He's My Little Brother!
by gomenasai-for-everything
Summary: Harry Dresden goes to Zero for information on a current case, but he gets kidnapped and subsequently rescued by gentleman John. After this, he's brought back to Thomas, and John shows just how much he dislikes the thought of Harry and Thomas together, while Thomas continues to be certain that absolutely no one is good enough for his little brother.
1. Chapter 1

Having a brother connected to Zero can be pretty helpful, when you're in the P.I. business, like I am. Oh, sure, the place is immoral in pretty much every sense of the word, but if you want info about some part of Chicago's underground, it's a damn good place to go. The hard part, though, is blending in, making myself seem like I belonged there. The first time I'd gone to the place, I'd gone with Thomas, but this time I wouldn't have that particular privilege, since I was pretty sure the swarm of women and men attacking him would distract me from my work there. Since he wouldn't be there to get me in by association, I needed to be dressed like a person who would actually go to Zero, and so, in the same way I went to Thomas to get me in, I went to Thomas to get me ready.

When I entered his apartment, Thomas discovered he just happened to have a pair of leather pants that were the perfect length for me. I was sure that was just as much of a coincidence as Michael showing up wherever he was needed was. He was at least nice enough to help me shimmy into the things, although the mere idea that I had to shimmy was sort of upsetting. I'm maybe a hundred and fifty pounds, soaking wet with my duster on. Anything I have to shimmy into shouldn't exist on this plane of reality. I said this during the shimmying process, and Thomas just glared at me, pulled my shirt off, and wrapped some leather whatsits that had no right to the title 'shirt' around my chest. I glanced into Thomas' mirror and decided I looked like a cheap BDSM model. Thomas hooked a collar around my neck. I glared, slid on my hiking boots, left his apartment, and caught a cab.

The cabbie stared at me incredulously, and I sighed, attempting to get across that yes, I did know how ridiculous I looked, and no, I would not get out of his cab despite my staggering levels of ridiculousness. I directed him to the seedy side street where Zero happened to be that night, and paid him with the crinkled money I'd managed to cram into my pants pocket. I marched up to the heavy metal door and shouldered it open with a touch more force than necessary, having grown used to my own improperly installed door, and walked down the dimly lit hallway I found to confront the bouncer, expecting a fight. It seemed Thomas had called ahead for me, though, because the bouncer let me in immediately, and I was quickly assaulted by flickering red lights and smoke from numerous less than legal substances.

People in various states of undress and sex were scattered around liberally. Men and women danced in suspended cages and around poles. One guy in the corner was sporting an erection whilst two exceedingly attractive people (I couldn't tell their gender), kicked the ever-loving shit out of him. The bass thumped loudly enough and low enough that my entire body was vibrating with it, and an aura of powerful lust permeated the air. Welcome to White Court heaven, Zero.

I had come there that night to hunt down a rogue narcotics dealer who seemed to be using some sort of Psychomancy to addict his buyers to cheap, low quality stuff with less actual product in it than a 1903 Coca-Cola, and I'd gotten a hot tip that he worked out of Zero more often than not. I slunk around through darkened corners, hearing far more bodily noises than I was comfortable with, and feeling a grope or two to my ass from some desperate schlub who apparently couldn't get anyone else. I felt sort of sorry for whoever it was, but didn't otherwise react. Again, if that person felt my scrawny ass was the only one they could get then they had to be pretty sad. I figured I could swallow my pride and give the poor fuck that much.

Anyway, I looked around for an hour or so and couldn't find anyone matching the guy's description. I was getting frustrated, honestly, and the smell of high class booze was hitting me hard. Or maybe it was the copious amount of pot in the air, but still. I'll take the legal one, please. I waded through a sea of people, many of whom grinded against me in truly fascinating ways, to get to the bar, where I ordered literally the cheapest beer I could. The bartender tried to sell me up by offering me a free drink of something with a name I couldn't pronounce, but I ignored him. As if I thought he'd actually give it to me for free. I swear, everyone I meet thinks I was born yesterday. I walked up a short flight of stairs and across a too-thin catwalk, my cheap beer clutched tightly in my hand, and grabbed a seat at a nice central table, where I'd have a clear view of most of the club.

I sipped at the beer, which didn't have a damn thing on Mac's microbrew, by the way, for about a half hour, give or take a few minutes. In that span, I was asked to dance by three exceptionally lovely women, which was surprising, and one equally lovely man, which was more surprising. I turned them all away, although one of the women wouldn't take no for an answer. She dragged me out onto the floor, her breasts held high and displayed in a leather bustier that offered only slightly more coverage than the crisscrossed leather straps across my own chest. About halfway through the dance, though, the woman shoved me down on my knees (she was really strong, damn it!), and attempted to shove my face into her crotch. Hell's Bells. I tried to squirm away, because I might enjoy giving oral, but I'd be damned if I did it in the middle of a crowded dance floor. She reached out and grabbed my hair, then tugged hard. Alright, so apparently Thomas really did manage to make me look like a masochist. I needed to remember to kill him, the next time I saw him. I was sort of wondering, though, why the apparent dominatrix before me had grabbed me instead of one of the countless better looking people in the room. Now wasn't the time to think about that, though, so I jerked free of her grasp, plucked the hairs she'd jerked free from her hand, and ran back to my beer.

I gulped down what was left of it, then fled Zero. I figured I could try again tomorrow, though, in an outfit of my own choosing. A dull ache sprouted up behind my eyes, and I figured it was the music as I stood up. My head swam, and my legs shook like I'd replaced the bones with jelly. I had no idea what was happening, and I felt, quite suddenly, too hot. I fled the building as fast as I could, hoping I could get a cab quickly and make my way home.

By the time I got outside, my head was spinning, and black spots were dancing in front of my eyes. Through the hazy, spinning thoughts in my head, I managed to piece together that I'd obviously been dosed with something, and that I was a huge idiot for finishing that beer after it had been out of my sight for so long. When I finally tumbled to the concrete a few feet from the sidewalk, all I could manage to think was that I wouldn't mind being drugged nearly as much if the beer had tasted better.

* * *

When I woke back up, I was in the back of some sort of large, moving vehicle. A van, my brain supplied lazily, a van, you fucking idiot. I groaned, not entirely by my own consent. I had a splitting headache. A voice, deep and masculine, cursed from the front seat. I was tied up, I now realized, but chances were I could pull free. The knot felt shoddily done. I forced myself up into a vaguely upright position, and opened still sleep-sticky eyes.

"How the fuck is he waking up? He should've had enough to knock him out the rest of the night, at least!" I opened my mouth to attempt to explain the truly magnificent speed of a wizard's metabolism, but what came out was more of a pathetic moan than anything. I shook my head to clear the haze, and focused hard on blocking away my body's various new aches. These fucks hadn't been gentle in moving me, obviously. The fog of pain cleared away.

"I don't know, asshole! You were the one that dosed him, not me! Maybe you fucked it up." I heard a low growl from the front, and then whispered out the spell I normally used for lighting candles. With a soft wisp of will, a tiny flame devoured the ropes around my wrists. I rubbed them for a second, to return the feeling to them, then undid my ankles while the idiots up front continued their argument. I rolled my eyes, and cleared my throat to call attention to myself.

"You know, guys, while this service has been absolutely incredible, I've got to say that I never requested a stay in Château Van." The guy in the passenger seat whipped around to look at me. He had a too-round, pugged face, with a nose that looked like it'd gone three rounds with a heavy-weight boxer without consent from the rest of his body. His hair was blonde and thin, and cropped so close to his head that I could see patches of his scalp. He had to know someone, like I did, if he'd gotten into Zero.

"Fuck," he cursed, "Fuck, man, he's loose!" I smiled sweetly, and wiggled my fingers. They were free from the comforting weight of my rings, since Thomas hadn't let me wear them, and when I shook my wrist there was a distinct lack of the happy tinkle my bracelet would have created. These two were pure vanilla, though, so I figured I could still dispatch them pretty easily, so long as they weren't working for whatever monster wanted me dead this week.

"So I am. You guys need to work on your knot tying. Maybe you should join the Boy Scouts. Hey, either of you guys want to tell me where we're going?"

"He's real mouthy, for a sub," hissed the diver. Sub? Stars and Stones, why was he calling me a sandwich?

"Probably part of his appeal, and why he's got all them scars. Punishment, you know?" Oh, hell.

"You two have it all wrong, which is surprisingly unsurprising. I'm not a masochist, okay? I'm a private investigator. I went to Zero so I could take out a dealer." They snorted, almost in perfect synch.

"Yeah, right. So you come and masquerade as a real good looking sub. You don't advertise something like that if it ain't true. We're taking you to a nice little auction, okay? Gonna get you a new master. I might sample the wares a little myself first, though," Pug Nose said, an ugly grin splitting his face and revealing yellowed teeth. I laughed.

"Yeah, see, even if I was a masochist, I wouldn't go for that. How 'bout you guys pull this car over, and I'll leave before trouble starts." I suddenly had a pistol in my face.

"Or you can sit the fuck back down and be quiet, before I shoot you in the head." Hell's Bells. I could call up a shield without my bracelet, yeah, but not one I'd trust against bullets, and even if it did work, the van was metal. The ricochet might kill me anyway, and that was the same reason I couldn't unleash any big magic in here. Metal surfaces are really unforgiving. I sat the fuck back down and was quiet. What? I like my brains where they are. Is that really so wrong? I don't think so. I sat there for about two hours with a gun to my head, until we pulled up to a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of the city. When we arrived, it was already pretty crowded, and I had a thought: if I waited to get free, then I could bust the rest of the people here out too. I resolved to cooperate as best I could for that reason. Pug Nose was the only one who exited the vehicle, and he dragged me up to the warehouse. The man at the door, broad and strong and stupid looking, took one look at me, handed Pug Nose a thick wad of bills, and brought me inside. He then proceeded to stab me in the arm with a long needle. I cursed as I collapsed again, and felt myself get thrown somewhere. I was getting really tired of being drugged today.

* * *

When I came to again, I was on a stage, and I'd been stripped of all I had on except for the stupid collar. I heard someone yell five hundred thousand, and forced my eyes open. There was a sea of people in front of me, most of their faces hidden by shadow. I shifted, and discovered I'd been chained up. Shit. Someone yelled five fifty. Were those people… were they bidding on me? I looked around the stage and saw that I was the only one up there, besides a guy with a microphone in his hand. I registered that someone brought the bidding to five eighty, and it slowed down to a trickle, going steadily up until it hit six twenty. The man beside me, the auctioneer I assumed, was about to call bidding to a close, and I was about to funnel force into the chain and snap it, when the warehouse door was slammed open, and in stalked Gentleman Johnny Marcone.

His money green eyes tracked over the room as I heard hushed whispers of 'Gentleman John', and 'run'. Those predator eyes finally found me, and then widened almost imperceptibly. I smirked, raised my head defiantly, and snapped the chain with a whispered 'forzare'. I then kicked the auctioneer hard in the balls and jumped down from the stage, then went over to Marcone.

"John! It's so nice to see you!" I said, sugary sweet enough to nearly make myself sick and give everyone in the room cavities. He gave me his patented battle grin, all pent up rage and sharp teeth, while Hendricks and Gard stood stoically beside him. He shrugged off his trench coat and handed it to me. I took it, and pulled it on; tying it tight to be sure it wouldn't suddenly fall off and show my bits again. See, I don't make it a habit to take things from mobsters, but when you've been drugged twice, stripped naked, and nearly bought, you make a few exceptions.

"I will expect an explanation for this." I smirked.

"And you might get one, but for now, I think this needs to be dealt with." He nodded.

"Of course." And then we fought. It was almost painfully simple, even without my staff and blasting rod, and Marcone had Hendricks and Gard help all the other trapped people out and away. That made me smile. Marcone might be a criminal scumbag, but I do respect him for things like that, for not compromising his morals. "Do you know where your blasting rod, staff, duster, and clothing are?" I shrugged.

"Blasting rod, staff, and duster are all at Thomas' place, and I don't really want the clothes I had on when I got here back. He raised a single eyebrow, the lucky bastard.

"And why is that?"

"Because only the truly generous would call those things clothes. I had to dress weird, so I could get into Zero tonight." His eyes narrowed until the green was hardly visible.

"You're far more of an idiot than I thought. Do you know how many people get taken to places like this from Zero? The number is staggering. Why in the world would you go there?" I noted that his coat was still warm from the heat of his body as I shrugged again, and wondered why I was even bothering to explain myself to him. I supposed I just figured I owed it to him, since he'd given me an opportunity to save my own ass, and the asses of everyone else here.

"I was looking for a dealer who works out of there. He messes in people's heads to hook them to really cheap stuff, gives out a lot of hot shots, stuff like that. I wasn't exactly expecting my beer to get drugged, Marcone. I sure as hell wasn't the best looking person there tonight." He looked like he wanted to respond to that, but shook his head.

"Come, Mr. Dresden. I will escort you to Mr. Raith's residence." I nodded, because again, my current situation was perfect for making concessions. I left the warehouse at his side, his trench coat fluttering around the middle of my thighs, and got into one of his dark sedans. The shooting started in the warehouse shortly after, and I couldn't bring myself to feel bad.

* * *

Marcone was weirdly silent as we drove towards Thomas' apartment on the Gold Coast, but I didn't complain too much. The situation he'd helped me out of was embarrassing enough without him gloating about it, so I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He did make it a point to escort me to the door, though, his arms crossed to reveal that he was annoyed, even though his face was as perfectly cool as it ever was. I knocked on Thomas' door, and he came quickly, although when he opened the door he didn't look like he'd been rushed. His hair was artfully tousled, and fell in a curling mass to his shoulders, and, as always, he was in his house uniform of jeans and nothing else. He stared curiously at Marcone and me.

"Empty Night, Harry, should I even ask what the hell happened?" I tried to speak, but Marcone cut me off. Of course.

"He went to Zero, where his drink was drugged; he was kidnapped, and brought to a human auction. This is, apparently, partially your fault." I squawked loudly as Thomas simply leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't tell him to go there, he wanted to all by himself. He's a big boy, Marcone, if a big boy who's stupid enough to mess up one of the first rules of clubbing and drink something that's been out of his sight, or something a stranger gave him. All I did was give him clothes that would get him through the door. You're going to have to pay me for those, by the way, Harry." I squeaked, I can admit it.

"How much could a pair of leather pants and strips of leather cost, asshole? And they let me keep the collar, see?" I gestured to the offending piece of jewelry strapped around my neck. He laughed softly.

"Those pants were a hundred dollars. That shirt was one fifty. The boots were yours, so I don't know what they cost."

"That wasn't even a shirt! It was strips of leather, damn it! And why would anyone pay a hundred dollars to get vacuum sealed into a pair of pants?" Marcone watched this back and forth silently up to that point, but he then held up a hand to stop Thomas from speaking again.

"Mr. Raith. From what I have heard, you purposefully dressed him in provocative clothing, allowed him to go into an environment I'm certain you know is very dangerous, and also knew that he likely would not know how to defend himself against said dangers." Thomas sneered, and even though it twisted his face in ways that should've made him look monstrous, revealed the dangerous pieces that lurked just under his skin, he simply looked beautiful as always, a snarling god forced onto earth to consort with us unworthy mortals.

"Excuse me for assuming he was enough of an adult to realize that people in that place would attempt to take advantage of him." Marcone gave a frigid smile. I held out a hand to each of them, and the sleeves of the trench coat, already an inch or two too short, came up on my arms even farther.

"Marcone, stop it. I was an idiot, that isn't Thomas' fault. I drank a beer that I hadn't been able to see for an extended period of time. That was dumb of me; I know that, so stop blaming him for me being stupid. And also, Thomas, I at least didn't take the free drink the bartender offered me, even though it probably would've tasted a hell of a lot better than the shitty beer I ended up with." Thomas rolled his eyes at me and offered a peaceable smile.

"You got yourself drugged for a shitty beer? Moron. I'd have been a lot prouder if you'd gotten drugged over good beer, or hey, maybe even some classy drink. Anyway, get your ass inside. My 'boyfriend' coming to my apartment naked and in the arms of another man isn't really good for my image." I snickered softly and nodded.

"Marcone, I guess you can come in for a minute or two, while I get dressed, so I can give you your coat back." He nodded and we walked in together, him still looking unhappy. Thomas let me back into the bedroom where he'd helped me dress in the first place, the room still just as slovenly as it had been when I left. My brother really does amaze me sometimes. What I really wonder over is how he can manage to impress women with a pigsty, when I had to spend all my money on a steak dinner just to get acknowledged sometimes. It really isn't fair. Still, I was grateful to have my ill-advised t-shirt decorated with a tiny Harry Potter giving Lord Voldemort a one-fingered salute and my ragged jeans back. They were old as hell, yeah, but really, really fucking comfortable and amazing and oh, yeah, they hadn't cost two hundred and fifty 's always a plus, in my book. I was also pretty glad to get the stupid collar off, even though that took a few minutes longer than it should have, because Thomas didn't hook it from the front, where I could remove it easily, oh no, he buckled it on the back of my neck and under my hair because he actually, literally hates me. Thomas gave the outfit the same disgusted look he had when I'd first come over, though. Because he's a bastard. Forever. Marcone gave it a similar appraising look. He's a dick, though. I don't care what he thinks. I tossed his jacket back to him, and he slung it over his shoulder as Thomas moved to lean heavily against my arm, how he sometimes did when he wanted to touch someone but didn't want to actually say that. Marcone looked at us balefully.

"I'd suggest that you look after him a bit better, Mr. Raith, lest he get taken from you." And there was a veiled death threat if I'd ever heard one, and I'd heard them a lot. Stars, and I'd thought Marcone and I were cool at the moment. What could I have possibly done to piss him off? He left before I could say anything in response, because if there's one thing Marcone is a master of, it's disconcerting exits. Thomas, however, didn't seem to be taking the threat to my life as seriously as me, though, because he started laughing into my shoulder as soon as the door slammed shut. I swatted him upside the head and led us to sit on his couch that was more decorative than functional. I felt a spring digging into my ass, apparently determined to become one with me. Thomas seemed to have no such problems, although most of his upper body was supported by me at that point. If there's one thing about Thomas, it's that he's really physically affectionate, when he can get away with it. One of his favorite pastimes was to sneak kisses to the top of my head, my forehead, my cheek, places like that, or grab me up into tight, one-armed hugs.

"Thomas, Marcone threatening my life is not a laughing matter!" I said, and Thomas choked and rolled his eyes at me.

"Dumbass, he wasn't threatening you, he was threatening me. He thinks we're dating, and also that I'm a really shitty boyfriend." He had to break for bouts of snickers during this statement, which really just made it even more unbelievable.

"Thomas. There are so many things wrong with that, I have a problem pointing them all out. For starters, is that rumor even still going around?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Harry, you're at my apartment at least once a week, you visit me at the salon, I lived with you for a year which you've allowed none of your love interest's to do, and Butters, along with about a fourth of SI and half the CPD is pretty sure you're gay. Add in your little display a few months ago in which you played the part of the scorned boyfriend with the mellow-dramatics that only you could pull off and still be believed, and I'm more surprised that there are still hold outs to you being straight."

"But he's John Marcone! Hell's Bells, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what was actually going on with us." Thomas gave me that 'you're an idiot, but I love you anyway' look again, with a distinct lack of the love part.

"He's a mob boss. They get a lot of their info through rumors, and all the rumors say we're fucking." I sighed.

"But he knows I like women. He's seen me with Susan! I'm pretty sure he knows I'm straight as a ruler just like you do, Thomas." Thomas laughed.

"Ruler, huh? Maybe the bendy kind. Anyway, are your only problems with the fact that he's John Marcone and disbelief that a really common rumor is still going around?" I pouted at him, because he's my older brother, and I'm allowed to pout at him. Plus he made a bisexual crack at me, and while that was maybe sort of true, I wouldn't stand for it from him.

"Well, going on him thinking that we're together, which I'm not sold on, why would he think you were a bad boyfriend? Or, better yet, why would he care enough to threaten you when he's only met you like, once before now?" He decided to give me a turn leaning on him, which was appreciated. Plus, when he's in the mood to let me do that, he plays with my hair, which is just awesome. Sometimes I really do consider letting him give me a haircut.

"Little brother, when I was living with you, I brought some woman to your place at least once every three days, sometimes more, depending on how many joggers happened to be around. Your neighbors were telling me that I should be treating you better. I got a lecture from your landlady about how you were a very sweet young man who deserved better than a cheating asshole boyfriend. Marcone probably knows about this, because he's a creepy stalker who follows you around way too much for me to be comfortable. He now also realizes that I dressed you up in a skimpy outfit and then, essentially, fed you to the wolves, and may think I did so to get some kind of sick thrill. Oh, and he cares because he wants to bend you over and fuck your ass 'til kingdom come." I choked, and his fingers dug into my scalp just so to settle me down.

"Who gave you crack, Thomas? Tell me, and I'll go deal with them for you. Marcone does not want to fuck me. Oh, and when I came in, you might have called me your boyfriend, but you sounded all sarcastic. He's not stupid; he'd know you were saying it as a joke about the rumors." Thomas shrugged the shoulder I was laying on.

"Which one of us is the psychic vampire, huh? I know lust when I feel it. And people hear what they want to hear, Harry. If he thinks we're dating, he'll take me calling you my boyfriend seriously, no matter what inflection I put on the word. Chances are he just thinks I was being a condescending prick." I laughed quietly, my eyes drifting closed as I clumsily patted his thigh as a reward for petting my hair.

"You are a condescending prick. You'd be even more of one if you stopped rubbing my head. There any food around, by the way?" I could feel him shrug again.

"No idea. Maybe. I don't cook, you know that. Probably a frozen dinner in the fridge that's still good, if you haven't managed to destroy said fridge again yet."

"You know I can't help it," I mumbled, "You wanna hit Mac's? He'll still be open, unlike everywhere else." I felt Thomas' hair tickle my face as he nodded, and we stood up together. I shrugged on my duster, which had been slung over one of Thomas' chairs with no small amount of familiarity, and we left the apartment and piled into the Blue Beetle, since Thomas didn't really want to risk his Hummer dying because I breathed on it while tired and not quite as in control of myself, which was probably a good idea, since even the Beetle was stuttering a little in my presence. We made it to Mac's in one piece though.

* * *

I expected the Old World pub to be desolate, at this hour, but a black sedan I recognized, the one Marcone had driven me to Thomas' with, sat in front of the place as well. Damn it. Thomas just laughed, and we went inside together, shoulder to shoulder, how we often found ourselves walking without really being conscious of it. Mac looked up from his place behind the bar as soon as the door opened, his white apron still spotless. Marcone and Hendricks (who, now that I thought about it, had been the one driving us), sat together at a table in the middle of the room, nearby the pillar with Little Red Riding Hood carved into it. He gave Thomas and me a polite nod of recognition which I returned, and Thomas poked my arm.

"Steak sandwich, please," he said, grinning, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Money?" He kept up his grin.

"Consider it a start on those clothes." I punched his shoulder companionably, and got the same treatment in return. Hell, Mac already knew we were really friends, and Marcone… well. I didn't know what he really thought. Still, I didn't really think it was imperative for me to keep Thomas at arm's length right now.

"Dick. Go grab a table. You want a beer too?" He nodded, and, because he likes to be difficult, took the table beside Marcone's even though there were plenty of empty tables farther away. Marcone glared at him, and seemed to say something, but I couldn't quite hear him from where I was, and besides, I was giving Mac my usual greetings and getting my usual nods and grunts in response as I placed Thomas' and my orders. I stood there by the bar until our food and beer was ready, put my money on the counter, and then brought it over to our table and sat it down. I caught something about someone not being good enough for something or another, before Marcone and Thomas ceased their conversation.

"Thanks, Harry," he said, flashing a tiny smile at me, and I nodded.

"You know it's not a problem." I caught sight of Marcone's hand tightening around his knife, then saw Hendricks' hand settle on the man's shoulder and tighten.

"Still," Thomas said with a shrug, taking a big bite out of his steak sandwich as I started to cut my steak and snatched a fry off his plate. "Hey! You've got baked potato, quit it!" I grinned and took another. He cut off a fourth of my potato and took it, meaning the war was on. Neither of us got any of our own potato product, as the other stole all of it. Ah, being brothers was just so much fun. Marcone ended up watching us the whole time, though, even though he and Hendricks finished long before we did.

"You know, Marcone, I think we can manage to eat and get to our respective homes all by ourselves." He raised an eyebrow.

"You aren't spending the night with him, Harry?" Well, shit. Apparently he did think we were together, then. I sighed, and decided that playing dumb would maybe be better in this situation.

"Where would I sleep? His couch feels like it's stuffed with rocks. And don't call me Harry." He blinked, and actually looked lost for a second, as though some bit of certain knowledge had crumbled away. He looked like how I would probably look if I suddenly found out that the Blue Beetle was finally beyond saving. Thomas was hiding a smirk behind his hand, I could tell.

"I had thought…" Thomas slung an arm over my shoulder, and grinned.

"That little 'Arry and I were together?" he asked, using his shitty French Toe-Moss accent. Marcone blinked.

"Yes, actually. Most seem quite certain that you two are… intimate." I sighed.

"There's a difference between intimate and affectionate, Marcone. Most people can't really tell the difference between them. We're just really good friends. He's into women." Thomas pressed a kiss onto my cheek then stretched up to scruff my hair. "Bitch," I mumbled. He laughed again. Marcone stared at Thomas, confused.

"And you didn't mention this when we were speaking earlier because, Mr. Raith?"

"It was fun to watch you squirm, Marcone. Besides, I didn't really see the harm in you thinking he and I were fucking. Like you said, a lot of people do. A lot of people also think he's my Thrall, but still. I guess I should just be glad you didn't attempt to stake me or something. It wouldn't work, but still."

"But he is not your Thrall, and you are not together, correct?" I snickered.

"No, Marcone. Do I look like someone he could ever dream of Enthralling? I'm a wizard; I could throw him across the room easy." Thomas patted my head, and I leaned into it habitually.

"Wizards are good status symbols, though. It's why Lara wants you so bad." I feigned swooning.

"And here I thought it was for my dashing good looks. Stones, Thomas, I already knew that. I could be the crown jewel in any collection, because of my power, and more so since I'm the Council's black sheep and all." The black sheep raised by the Blackstaff. It was kind of funny, when I thought back on it. He nodded, and we turned to go out the door, but Marcone grabbed my wrist. Thomas had my other one seconds before he would've managed to yank me backwards towards the table, so instead I ended up stretched out between the two of them, my shoulders aching as they tested one another's grip.

"Mr. Raith, please. I am not done speaking. If you two are not dating one another, what is your relationship?" Thomas heaved a sigh.

"We're friends. Haven't we already gone over this? He is my friend, who let me freeload off of him for a year because I'm an exile." Marcone scoffed.

"Which is apparently not enough for you to forgive him for being kidnapped." I kept trying to break into the conversation, but apparently neither of them thought I had anything invested in it.

"I'm pissed at him for doing something stupid. I'm always pissed at him for doing something stupid, because he's always going off and doing something stupid. I asked him over a hundred times not to go by himself, but he said he could manage, and I gave up following him the last time he broke my Hummer. Oh, and if you were talking about me saying he had to pay me back for those clothes, I was kidding. I was expecting him to set them on fire anyway, honestly. It's a nice surprise that they even still exist." Once more I tried to speak, and once more I was denied.

"Ah, yes, such a lovely, equal friendship the two of you have. I'm sure you are endlessly deserving of the care he heaps on you, vampire."

"Oh, you think you're better qualified for it? No, wait, you don't want friendship, you want his ass. Sorry, sorry, White Court and all. I get the two mixed up sometimes. Now let go of him." Marcone actually laughed.

"Yes, certainly, I'll let him go with you. You two are just friends, after all, and you'd never dream of taking advantage of his trust, I'm sure." He jerked hard at my wrist, and I felt my shoulders pop. Yeah, no, I wasn't dealing with this shit anymore, not at the cost of my bones. They've been broken enough, thanks.

"Hell's goddamned Bells, both of you shut up, and quit pulling on me like a ragdoll! Marcone, Thomas is not going to do anything to me. I've known him for years, and I trust him, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop treating him like he was a pervert offering me candy and a puppy. And Thomas, if you don't stop picking fights, I'll leave you here. We came in my car, remember?" Thomas let go just as Marcone defied my wishes (why I expected he wouldn't, I don't know), and pulled hard one last time. I was sent careening back over to him, and, in the process, smashed my hip against one of Mac's solid wood tables. Marcone caught me against his chest, and I heard Hendricks sigh. Mac put his double barrel on the bar as a silent warning for us to calm our asses down and not cause a fight on his neutral ground. Marcone's heart was thumping rapidly in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his blood. "Marcone," I said, annoyed, shoving off of him to stand on my own. He looked up at me harshly, money eyes flashing darkly, turning the money to tree leaves in late summer.

"You are not leaving with him, Harry. If I must, I will escort him to his home whilst you drive to your own, or I will escort you while he takes your car." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Thomas, come on." I tried to leave, but Marcone stopped us again, except this time he used his brick wall, Hendricks.

"Well, I suppose I must pull the alcohol card, then. You both consumed two drinks, and so you are both unfit to drive. I will drive you both to your respective apartments. Harry, I'm sure your… car, if it can be called that, will be fine here overnight, and I will drive you back here in the morning to fetch it if you'd like." My mouth gaped open, and I looked at Mac desperately. He shrugged and made a gesture that suggested he'd been planning on taking my keys anyway, because Mac has a thing about drunk driving. Even though it takes a lot more than two beers to get a wizard drunk, damn it. He'd taken my keys before when I was cold sober. I didn't know why I'd thought it would be different this time. I glared at the floor.

"Fine, Marcone. Come on, Thomas, we're not getting out of this anyway." He laughed softly and slung an arm over my shoulder. Damn, but he was touchy-feely tonight. The last time he'd been like this had been shortly after he found out about what he'd done to Justine. He hadn't let go of me all night, that night. I was beginning to wonder if I even should leave him in his apartment alone tonight. Anyway, Marcone led us to his car, and somehow managed to wrangle us around so that Thomas got put in an area where only one person could fit. Weird as it seemed, I was starting to grow a little suspicious of Marcone and his… intentions, towards me. Now, I of course still didn't believe Thomas' stupid theory, but my earlier one, about him threatening me subtly, was starting to look good again. I still didn't know what I could've possibly done to piss him off at me recently, though. Thomas stared at Marcone the entire way to my place, and made literally no attempt to pull off his oblivious, harmless pretty boy look, which had made an appearance with pretty much all of my enemies, to lull them into security before Thomas brought his beast out to play. I guessed that he didn't figure it was worth it, since Marcone already knew his true power.

Still, the whole ride was quiet, and when Hendricks pulled into the gravel lot in front of my apartment, I was eager to get inside. Plus Mister and Mouse were probably starving and wanting for a Coke and a bottle of water, respectively. I opened the car door and swung my legs out as quickly as I could, but Marcone grabbed my bicep before I could completely escape.

"Goodbye, Harry. I will see you soon." I blinked. See you soon? Veiled threat much? Stars and Stones.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't call me that, by the way, scumbag. And bye. See you later, Thomas. I'm going back to Zero tomorrow night, so if you want to defend my honor or whatever you can meet me here at about ten o'clock." He nodded, and gave me a sarcastic salute. I rolled my eyes as Marcone released my arm, and stretched over to give him a quick, brotherly hug. "Call me if you need me, okay? For anything," I added, since I was unsure what had gotten him so cuddly, and it might send him spiraling or something. I wanted him to be sure that I'd be there, if he needed me, no matter the hour. He nodded, and flashed me a smile that could've come out of a Colgate commercial.

"Sure thing, Harry." I then climbed out, walked into my apartment, and got a comforting Shoulder Block of Love from Mister, and a nuzzle to the hip from Mouse. God, but I loved my pets. I didn't know why, but I was insanely happy to be home, to see them, to be okay. I crouched down and wrapped Mouse into a hug, receiving a lick to the cheek from him, whilst Mister knocked into my thigh and purred like a diesel engine. I laughed quietly.

"Thanks, furfaces. I really do love you guys." Mouse woofed as softly as he could, but it was probably still loud enough to wake the neighbors. Except Mrs. Spunklecrief, of course, hard of hearing as she is. I smiled, and went into the kitchen to feed them. If they slept with me that night, well, I wasn't going to complain. They were warm.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas' POV

Marcone was funny, until he wasn't anymore, at which point he just pissed me off. I mean, Empty Night, everyone that wants to fuck my baby brother is funny to start off with, just because they're so pathetic, and it's sort of cute how hard they try. It's kind of like how Mouse was, when he was just a puppy and Harry didn't particularly want him. Mouse stayed cute, though, even though he didn't give up. These assholes got really annoying the more persistent they were. Marcone was one of the most persistent ones I'd ever met. And Harry was also the most oblivious person I've ever met, which is actually sort of useful, in my line of work as Harry's Personal Chastity Defender. I mean, fuck, I'd literally told him that Marcone wanted his ass, Marcone had not denied it, and Harry still thought I was stupid, even though he also knows that I can feel lustful thoughts, and Marcone has a boatload when Harry's around. I wouldn't be surprised if I found out that his brain turned into a twenty four hour kinky porno when Harry was in the room. I stretched out into the seat he'd forced me into, managed to appear to as though I were luxuriating despite the fact that I was actually pretty uncomfortable.

"So, I'm going to guess you don't believe the whole friend thing?" I asked, allowing a smug smile to flit across my face. If I fucked with him enough, he'd give up. He'd have to. I mean, the little mortician had given up his crush thing the second I kissed Harry's head and played up my mojo a little. Kincaid had been a little harder. He hadn't much reacted in the short term, but when I played it up long term, well, he'd given in pretty quick, since he knows how Harry gets, when he's in a relationship for a long time. He wouldn't cheat on someone to save his own damn life, honestly. The Hellhound had actually been pretty helpful, though; after I got him off of Harry, he went for his little cop friend, distracted her, which was a plus for me, since she knew who I really was, and therefore wouldn't fall for my game. Marcone, though… I'd just have to work a little harder, for him.

"No, Mr. Raith, I'm afraid I do not. Harry is not very physically affectionate, I have observed as much. Only someone very… special to him would be allowed such liberties as the ones you took. I suppose he wishes to hide your relationship to one another for some reason? Perhaps the fact that the wizards are at war with you creatures?" I laughed, and let my eyes go lidded, my mouth curl into a smirk. One thing about my heritage: I've got a perfect mastery of expressions, especially the ones that enhance my looks. A lesser man than Marcone would be drooling all over me by now.

"Oh, ha-ha, Marcone. The wizards are at war with the Red Court, not the White, and even if the White Court was getting involved in the fighting, it wouldn't come back to me. I'm an exile, remember? That means I'm unaligned. He wants to hide it to keep me safe from the Council, or his various random enemies. I go along with it, but you know, I can't help but give out a few little signals like the ones I gave you, just to let my competition know he's taken, and that they should back the fuck off, because he's mine." My baby brother. Only someone worthy of him could have him. And by worthy I mean someone who is too old for sexual relations and would just pat him on the head and give him hugs and feed him and make him take his medicine when he's sick or hurt whenever I can't come over and do it for one reason or another. Maybe his landlady, although both of us would probably get tired of yelling so she could hear us. Maybe one of my older customers at the salon? Yeah, that might work. Some of them give me food for him every time they come to visit. Marcone smirked back at me, tight and cool and controlled. Stiff, almost as though he were a mannequin. He's an unnerving mortal, I'll give him that.

"Ah, yes, and all those women you dirtied his apartment with were just for show, right? No matter what you say, I will still not believe that you are worthy of him. You are adulterous, you speak to him as though he is beneath you, and you send him off into dangerous situations without back up from anyone, much less yourself. You care more for your own life than his, don't you? He deserves more." Yeah, that was something that would always piss me off, someone saying I cared more about myself than family. Family is the most important thing, and I'd defend my sisters, my dearest little brother, with my dying breath, with all I had, every last piece of myself. Family is the one thing I actually am willing to die for. I felt my demon clawing up to the surface, begging me to kill him for speaking so insolently, but I held it down, forced it back, focused on keeping myself looking human. My eyes probably still took on a little glow. My chin was thrust out a little, because like Harry always says, the stubbornness, the defiance, is genetic. Our mother has given us a lot, some of it good, some of it horrible and scary and terrible, but I'll always be proud to have gotten those two things from her. They're what kept me alive in the cutthroat world of the White Court for so long, they're what have allowed me to keep my demon in check.

"Don't talk about things you don't know anything about. I go everywhere with Harry that he'll let me, but he's a stubborn bastard who thinks he knows what's best and would rather kill himself than think someone he loves got hurt trying to save him. Those girls I brought back? I didn't touch any of them. I did bring them around for show, to keep the act that I was just some random pervert going. I made nice with them, had them stay over, then sent them on their way. They didn't, and still don't, mean shit." A few little lies would be fine, for now. For until he gave up. So maybe forever. Still, it wasn't like Harry would ever find out what I was doing. He crossed his arms, and his own chin lifted, his own chest puffed out some.

"You cannot love him. The White Court has an aversion to love, they cannot touch it, and so one of you does not have true feelings for the other." And damn if I didn't know that. Thinking of Justine still hurt me deeply, endlessly. Harry had helped get me through the worst of it, was still helping me get through it. Harry was different, though, for me at least. Lara wouldn't be able to touch him, but I could put my hands on him for the same reason I could put my hands on Lara: family was the exception. But I couldn't tell him that.

"Only if we're trying to feed. I don't feed on him, the whole reason I own my salon is so I don't get tempted to try and eat him. I nibble on my customers and keep myself mostly full." Which was a bold faced lie on all accounts. White Court couldn't touch anyone but family with love whether they were trying to feed or not. I did nibble on Harry on occasion, when he was stressed out and overflowing with feeling, like Justine had, just to calm him down. Never enough to get him or me addicted to it, but enough to mellow him out a little, help him think clearly, and sometimes I wasn't even aware that I did it when I did it. And the nibbles I took from my customers weren't nearly enough to keep me full. Enough to keep me sane, yeah, but I was still always Hungry for more, Hungry to take all the life out of them. I never did, though, because it would make Harry sad, because it would disappoint Justine. I couldn't live with that, not anymore, not now. Marcone looked suspicious, damn him.

"That is not how my consultant explained it, Mr. Raith." I smiled blithely as we pulled up to my apartment.

"Yeah?" I asked, "Sorry, I don't think the Valkyrie knows more about the White Court than the former White Court Prince." I then got out of the car, entered my apartment, and went to bed, because fuck, discouraging Harry's suitors is full time work. Maybe I can put a little cat collar on all of them or something, one with a bell. That way, if I hear ringing, I can just steer Harry in another direction. If they can't see him, speak with him, or interact with him in any way, shape, or form, then there's no way they could take his precious innocence! I fell asleep with a small smile, imagining Marcone running around with a little ringing bell around his neck, snapping his fingers and yelling, 'Curses, foiled again!' every time I saved Harry from one of his nefarious 'trip the stupid wizard into my bed' schemes. It was the most pleasant dream I've had in ages.

* * *

Marcone's POV

"Don't let him get to you, Boss," Hendricks murmured from the front seat. I sighed, and leaned back, allowing the leather to cushion me sweetly. My eyes shut and I released a world-shaking sigh.

"I am doing my best not to, Mr. Hendricks, but the both of them are lying, and I'm unsure of what the truth could possibly be. They are not merely friends, as Harry harps, but I do not think their relationship is what Mr. Raith would have me believe either." Hendricks glanced at me through the rearview mirror, attempting to project all the disapproval he possibly could through that one simple gaze. He's had quite a lot of practice, and it worked rather well, considering. That, I suppose is one problem with knowing someone for as long as I have known Nathan: it gives them the means to sufficiently chastise you in any occasion.

"Boss, just because you don't want to believe something doesn't mean it isn't true. I don't know what else Raith could do to say 'hey, that's my boyfriend. There are many like it, but this one is mine'. Maybe a sex tape? Of course, he is a Raith, so I wouldn't be all that surprised. They probably have magic-proof cameras. Or maybe he could have done it at some point when Harry used so much magic he couldn't use any for a while." Nathan looked thoughtful. I sighed. He's a smart man, of course, but he often finds himself digressing randomly about whatever he happened to be speaking of. It was a large part of why he was having such trouble with his thesis, although Gard has been helping tremendously, from what I've heard. His current digression just happened to be about how a wizard could produce a sex tape. I sighed, and rubbed the bridge of my nose harshly.

"Mr. Hendricks. I'm afraid I'd rather not listen to this, you understand. I'm certain Ms. Gard would be happy to discuss it with you later." He blinked at me through the rearview mirror, and blushed slightly.

"Sorry, Boss. Anyway, we're pretty close to your place. Do you have any orders for me?" I thought about it for a moment as we pulled into my drive.

"Do you know if Gard could dismantle and replace Harry's wards without him being able to identify that they were tampered with?" He looked at me curiously, disapproval lurking just underneath the surface. And people wondered why I did so well. It was obviously because I had employees to play my Jiminy Cricket and give me a swift kick in the ass if I happened to go too far out of line. I didn't much feel like giving into Nathan's moral crusade that evening, however.

"She's said something to that effect before. Why?" I gave a serene smile.

"As I told Harry, I plan on returning to his apartment in the morning in order to escort him back to that pub to get his vehicle. While I am gone, I would like you and Gard to go to his apartment and plant some sort of listening device in his bedroom. Preferably one that won't fry the moment he sneezes in its direction." He tried to get every shred of disapproval to pour from his body with nothing more than an annoyed glance. Once more, he succeeded rather well. It truly gets a bit annoying, sometimes, how good he is at that.

"Boss, you do know he has a fucking mostly divine guard dog, don't you? Gard has said that thing could break me in half, if it wanted. I'm pretty sure me breaking into his house would make the thing want to. I still don't know how in hell he got that thing. I'm not breaking into his place, Boss, no way in hell. And I wouldn't even if he didn't have that dog. His cat hates me. It might not be magical, but it's a big fucking cat."

"I think you and Gard can handle the cat, Mr. Hendricks. I'll have him bring the dog with us. If he won't then I will call you and tell you to abort the plan." He still looked unwilling, and shifted slightly in the driver's seat as he twisted around to open his door. I opened my own and stepped out.

"It's a big goddamned cat, Boss." I laughed.

"Mr. Hendricks, if it makes you feel any better, I believe he lets the beast out every morning to run rampant through the neighborhood. I doubt it will even be there upon your arrival." We walked towards the front door, and he sighed.

"Fine, damn it." I went to bed with a small smile on my face.

* * *

I awoke early the next morning and set off to Harry's apartment on my own, in one of my smaller, older vehicles that would, hopefully, be able to stand being in Harry's presence for a while. I had decent hopes for it, or they were, at the least, higher than my hopes for most of my other cars. There was a reason why I never drove any of my more expensive cars whenever I knew an encounter with him was likely. I pulled into the gravel lot and walked carefully down the older stone steps that led to the front door of his basement apartment. I knocked loudly on the old steel thing, which was dented and nicked in places, warped in others, so much so that it hardly fit the frame anymore. I wondered how Carpenter ever managed to touch it without collapsing in defeat for the hopelessness of Harry Dresden. I heard a worrying crash from inside, and stuck my hand into my suit jacket, fingering the grip of my gun carefully, my free hand poised to pull a knife from a small holster at my wrist. My worry faded rather quickly, however, at the sound of Harry's voice.

"Son of a bitch! Mouse, I heard it, okay! Quit it, I need pants. Mister, damn it, that's my blasting rod! It's a very sensitive piece of equipment, it doesn't need tooth marks in it, and yes, I'm bringing it, although nothing is blasting my door down and my wards aren't going off so I don't think I'll need it. Yes, Mouse, I know how to get dressed, I can do it myself, I've done it for years without your help, and Mister, get that snide look off your face, you never had to help me either. Stars, you two worry too much," he mumbled, and the door opened to reveal one disheveled wizard, his hair mussed and the skin around his eyes slightly purpled from lack of rest. He'd thrown on a pale blue t-shirt decorated with glittery yellow stars, and I raised an eyebrow at it. He, after a few moments of gaping, recognized who I was and just what I was looking at. He blushed becomingly and glared harshly, his arms crossed, blasting rod dangling from the long, thin fingers of his right hand.

"Shut up, Marcone, it was a gift." I smirked.

"And who granted you such a… unique article of clothing." He glared harder.

"Molly. Apparently it's fashionable, and magic-y, whatever that means. She said she'd wear it, so I should be willing to too. I don't generally argue with her about things like that, me being a hopeless lost cause at anything relating to fashion, as I've been told by all of my female friends, including Murphy, like she has room to talk." He was babbling. I'd noticed he did that often, when something was making him nervous. Not frightened, as that generally resulted in things mysteriously becoming charred masses of unidentifiable goo, but uncomfortable.

"Well. It suits you, I must say." And it did, really. The blue looked nice on his skin, and though the glitter coated stars made him look even more pathetically young than he usually did, it also made him look almost painfully cute and nonthreatening. The ragged, worn jeans with holes in the knees he was also wearing helped that look as well. I'd almost expect him to have smudges on his fingers and face, from charcoal or ink, when he looked like this. Most wouldn't really associate the fiery wizard with 'bookish' I knew, but really, when one caught him off guard, that was how he often came across. It was just one more contradiction to a man who already had more of them than blood, but it only made him interesting, to me. Someone I could always learn more about, someone I'd have to work to figure out. He waved a hand in front of my face angrily.

"Hey, scumbag, I know I look ridiculous, but it's rude to stare. What are you here for, anyway? It's too early in the morning for me to deal with you. Shouldn't you be off scumbagging? You know, kicking puppies, practicing your maniacal laugh in the mirror?" That startled a laugh out of me.

"That occupies, at best, five percent of my normal day. I will admit, it takes up a bit more when you're involved. Can't have the laugh getting rusty, you know. And I believe I informed you last night that I'd be returning this morning in order to escort you to fetch your car." He blinked, appearing thoughtful for a second.

"Huh. So you did. Let me go brush my hair and I'll be back in a minute. You can come in, I guess." He stumbled forward suddenly as his monster of a cat slammed into the back of his knees and then shot by him and me, off down the street. He sighed and stepped further into his house, allowing me to come in behind him. I shouldered his door closed as he wandered through the apartment's only interior door and into his bedroom. His behemoth dog stared at me; its eyes sparking with more intelligence than any real dog should have a right to. It stepped towards me slowly, and snuffled at my hand, my clothes, then sneezed, and held out its paw for me to shake. I raised an eyebrow. Apparently it approved of me, in some form. I took its paw and shook politely, which was apparently permission for the thing to shove its massive head beneath my hand and demand that I pet it. I did so, assuming that if an animal of that size desired affection, it would get it in one way or another. I decided this was likely the least painful way for me to go about it. Its tongue lolled out and its mouth opened in what could only be called a smile, though perhaps it was also a way to display its long, sharp teeth, a sort of deterrent. I rubbed it behind the ears and noticed that one of them was notched, then buried my hands in the thick ruff of fur around its neck. Harry chose that moment to enter, his hair vaguely tamed into a mostly neat mass of dark brown curls. "You know, Marcone, if you pet him once he'll never leave you alone again." I laughed softly as the dog stepped back some to lick my hand.

"I had assumed as much, Mr. Dresden. Do you think he'd like to come along with us?" Harry looked ready to speak, but the dog wagged its tail and moved rapidly across the room. It returned with a leash in its mouth. Whatever Harry had been planning to say evaporated as he smiled fondly at the animal.

"Yeah, yeah, furface, you know I can't say no when you look at me like that. Dumb dog." The dog grinned again as Harry took the leash and latched it to the collar. I wondered why he even bothered when the dog could likely break the thin strap with little more than a thought, but I supposed it was something of a showpiece, to make the neighbors more comfortable with such a gargantuan creature sharing their space. Still, the three of us left, and Harry pulled open the back door, allowing the animal to jump into the back seat. The car shifted on its axles, and Harry ducked into the passenger seat as I climbed into the other side. He hooked his seatbelt carefully and glared distrustfully at the dashboard. I sighed.

"This is the oldest vehicle I own, Mr. Dresden. I chose it solely so that I could avoid tempting fate." Harry squirmed as I started the car, and seemed to be trying to become one with the seat.

"Yeah, and it's still a pretty new model, plus it's tiny, so I'm right beside the engine. The engines of cars don't like it when I'm right beside their engines. Makes them want to just give up and end it all. Understandable, of course, but pretty inconvenient. That's why normally when people put me in their fancy new cars they make sure it's something big. Or a motorcycle. For some reason, I don't break those. No idea why." I sighed.

"You drive a Volkswagen Beetle, Mr. Dresden. This is no smaller than that." He grinned.

"The Blue Beetle is a hell of a lot older than this, plus the engine is in the back. I'll admit, it isn't the best car around for a wizard, but it's cheap to repair, and it's mine, so I like it." It took two tries for me to get the car started, even though it had been running perfectly that morning, and the engine made an uncomfortable rattling noise even still. Harry snickered, and I stared harshly at the steering wheel as I pulled it out onto the road and directed it towards Mac's.

"I'm coming to believe that if you had a ball of lint you felt was specifically yours, you'd cry over its absence. Never before have I met a man who liked things solely because they were his." Harry let out a raucous, cutting laugh.

"For one, Marcone, I do own some balls of lint. They're pretty handy for making potions. And I wouldn't cry if they were suddenly gone. I'd be a little upset, sure, but I wouldn't cry about it. For two, you like Chicago, don't you? She's your city. And I'd assume you like your fancy-shmancy mansion." I gave him a sidelong smile.

"You're admitting that Chicago is mine?" He shrugged, staring out the window.

"I don't see how this place could belong to anyone else, honestly. You'd protect it with your life, no matter who was going against you. That's what I do for the things that are mine, or the things I love. Honestly, Marcone, if someone fucked with the Blue Beetle, I'd totally kick their ass. I guess I'm trying to say that maybe Chicago is your Blue Beetle. She can be fucked up, and dark, and dangerous, but inside she's strong, resilient, something worth keeping." I smiled.

"Your car is dangerous?" He laughed, being surprisingly open for no particular reason, so far as I could tell. Perhaps he was simply too tired to bother being defensive towards me.

"Well, considering the fact that the stupid thing's breaks went out once when I was driving up some mountain, yeah. I nearly flew off the side more than once, since there weren't any guardrails, for whatever reason."

"You're being surprisingly talkative this morning, Mr. Dresden." He shrugged.

"Mouse isn't freaking out, so I know you're not going to try anything. So long as I've got my dog, I can relax around anyone, no matter how scummy they are." So he knew of the animal's intelligence, then. I nodded and pulled us into the parking lot of McAnally's Pub, where his Beetle still rested, no more horribly disfigured than it had been the previous night. He opened up the rear door of the car and tugged at Mouse's leash. The dog huffed out a breath and stayed firmly where it was. Harry put his fists on his hips and glared. "I know, Mouse, you like newer cars and you really think I should buy one. You don't have to be all passive-aggressive about it." I shook my head and watched happily, calmly, as he argued with his dog. The part that truly made me grin was that the dog appeared to be winning, and I was quite certain that by the end of it, Mouse would have convinced Harry that he desperately needed a new Ferrari. Him being so comfortable around me was a truly welcome change.

* * *

Hendricks' POV

"This is stupid," I grunted, as Gard performed the magical equivalent of a lock pick on Harry's wards. We'd been there ten minutes already, and she hadn't really seemed to accomplish all that much. Her hand suddenly got caught halfway through some invisible barrier, and she hissed quietly. I saw a circular, bright red burn appear just below her knuckles. "This is really, really stupid." She forced her hand farther forward, and a sharp flash of bloody red, the same color as his force spell, exploded around her hand. The hair on the back of my neck raised, and I shivered, assuming that that meant the wards were down. I reached for the door handle, to get to my own part of picking the actual lock, but Gard swatted my hand away quickly.

"The wards are not yet down. That was simply the locking mechanism, the thing that keeps any random practitioner from changing or stealing his designs. It was rather sophisticated. I can't imagine what the wards themselves will entail. I'm honestly unsure of my ability to remove and replace them before he returns," she grumbled, obviously not exactly willing to admit this. Her hands started to fly, rapid-fire, again as she chanted lowly, the words foreign and lilting on her tongue. It was things like that that really reminded me that Gard was immortal, not human. Too good for me and everyone else on this dumb planet Earth. Her face twisted suddenly, confusedly, and she pressed her hands forward, some, as though she were prodding at something. I saw sparks, and she leapt back with a shocked gasp.

"Gard?" I asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she broke into a fierce laugh and dived back towards the door.

"It seems our resident wizard has somehow managed to get his hands on something even I thought to be destroyed. There is no other way for him to have these wards. I fear we may have made a grave miscalculation, Mr. Hendricks." That sounded not at all good.

"Are we going to get killed by a fire breathing dragon or something?" She barked out another laugh.

"Not quite so dramatic, I don't think, but this may be more dangerous than we'd imagined." She worked for about ten more minutes, until she hissed out some final word, and a puff of silver emanated from the door, along with one of her runes. She stepped back, and I quickly unlocked the cheap lock on his door. He was apparently confident enough in those wards of his that mortal security took a back seat. I stepped inside cautiously, aware of Gard's warning.

"What is it that he's got, then?" I mumbled, slipping the bug from my pocket and creeping towards his bedroom.

"A very powerful Spirit of Air and Intellect, Mr. Hendricks, one that has been bound to the mortal plane for many hundreds of thousands of years. Its knowledge of magic exceeds that of any mortal practitioner on this earth. It was thought to have been destroyed with its previous owner, the necromancer Kemmler." Yeah, I'd heard about that guy before. A bad motherfucker who started a World War just because he was bored and pissed. A guy I knew Dresden wouldn't associate with if his life depended on it, so how the hell could he have gotten one of his possessions?

"You sure that's the only way he could have his wards?" Gard nodded as I carefully opened the bedroom door and planted the bug behind his dresser, where it would be able to pick up sound throughout the room, and maybe at least part of the bathroom. I slipped another device from my pocket, and, for good measure, hid it in his living room. Gard and I walked out of the apartment, me locking the door on the way out as she quickly began to weave the wards back into place.

"Yes. These wards are very, very old, and very powerful. They date back to the Middle Ages, when magic grew very prevalent and wizards were in high demand, though feared and at times hated by royals. They are some of the very first wards ever created, to defend the wizards from attack, and have long been lost to time. I've not seen them since that time. The Spirit is the only thing that would have been willing to tell of them."

"Willing?"

"Yes. Ancients such as myself would know of them, as would many fairies and other denizens of the Nevernever, but none would ever mention these, as they are rather dangerous, and somewhat taxing on their creator, although that would, of course, not be an issue for Mr. Dresden. He has added some very interesting changes to the basic design, though. I should like to examine them more thoroughly at some later date." She finished the work with a flourish and we leapt back into our vehicle and drove off.

"What makes him special enough that they wouldn't 'tax' him?" I asked curiously, as we headed towards Boss' house. Gard smirked.

"Not since the Merlin has a wizard on this earth had so much raw magic within them. He leaks power like a beacon, and throws more away in the simple act of lighting a fire than most practitioners even contain within them. It's rather fascinating, honestly, a true sight to behold, though likely the reason so many less-than-kind supernatural citizens are so interested in him. I pity the recipient of his death curse, whoever it will be. I do, however, hope that I still live to see him cast it, and see its effects." Damn. I'd known Dresden was tough, sure, but that tough, tough enough to really impress Gard? It was a little frightening.

"How'd he get that Spirit, anyway, if it was supposed to have been destroyed?" She shrugged.

"I'd suspect that some Warden was less than honest, and took it for him or her self rather than actually destroying it. After that, I'd assume that Harry somehow inherited it." I nodded.

"Wasn't he an orphan, though?"

"I believe that is what I was told, yes, but he had to have been an apprentice at some point, for him to have gained full wizard status with the White Council as he has. His master probably gave it to him as a sort of graduation gift." Wizards are fucking weird. I just want to get that out there. They are a group of weird, freaky dangerous people, every last one of them, and Harry Dresden could be their king. I heaved a sigh and stared out the window as we pulled back into Boss' driveway and went about our work for about twenty minutes until Boss got home, at which point he wanted us to set him up a place to listen to the bugs, when he wanted to. He's not very good at showing affection, if you couldn't tell. I wondered who I'd pissed off in a past life that I now deserved a lovelorn Boss who stalked the wizard of his dreams endlessly, possibly at the cost of the safety of his employees, since said wizardly love apparently had a goddamn magical all-knowing spirit living somewhere in his house. I should write a book about this stuff. I'd make millions.

* * *

Harry's POV

When we got home, Mouse was really annoyed with my door, for some reason. I told him to stop glaring at it, and dragged him inside, where he proceeded to get annoyed with my bookshelf. I swear, sometimes that dog is insanely smart, but others… well, other times he acts a lot like a dog. I filled up his punch bowl and decided to head down to the lab for a while, stock up on some easy potions.

"You know what to do if something happens, Mouse," I called to the dog as I kicked my Navajo rug out of the way and lifted the trapdoor. The rickety wooden stairs creaked familiarly as I went down them, and I grinned over at Bob where he sat on his shelf. "Wakey wakey, lazybones," I called out, expecting him to groan about that stupid pun like he usually did. Instead, two pinpricks of candlelight orange formed sedately in his eye sockets. Something had him worried, then.

"Boss, someone broke in while you were gone. I don't know what they did, and they replaced the wards, but they were still here. I mean, they didn't leave anything magic behind, they didn't stay themselves… did they steal anything?" I shook my head. I kept anything of any value I owned in my living room, and nothing was gone. "Reconnaissance then. We're going to have to bulk the wards up, so they can't get back in. Bring me upstairs?" I nodded, and plucked him up to bring him upstairs. I sat him on the coffee table, and Mouse continued to stare at the bookshelf raptly. Dumb dog. Bob talked me easily through how to strengthen them, and by the end of it, I was pretty sure there wasn't much alive that could break them down. I even put my own little flair on it, by making my lock system the magical equivalent of that labyrinth with the Minotaur in it. The only difference was, there was no golden thread out there to solve mine. I grinned proudly at my door when I was done.

"Thanks, Bob." He gave me his signature toothy (get it, get it?) grin as I brought him back downstairs. "I owe you a novel." Bob laughed.

"No problem, Harry. I mean, hey, if I didn't look out for your stupid ass, who knows what would happen to you." I laughed.

"I'd die, probably. You've saved my life more times than I can really count, Bob." Bob would have shrugged, if he had shoulders. I'm sure of it.

"Yeah, well, I sort of like you. Kind of. You know, in the sense of you keep me alive and all." I smiled.

"I get it, Bob. Love you too." I ran upstairs again before he could say anything, a soft laugh forming under my breath. I heard Mister pawing at the door and let him inside. He joined Mouse in staring at the bookshelf. My pets, everyone. I grabbed an old paperback that was slightly less destroyed than my others, marking it as my favorite book, the one I actually attempted to take care of. The back pages were still sort of sticky, though. Slime monsters ruin everything. They're the real reason why I can't have nice things. Of course, there wasn't anything but myself I could blame for the finger-shaped singes on the front and back covers, except for maybe Mister. He scared me. My kneejerk reaction is to produce fire when I'm scared. Scary things have a habit of disappearing when I do that, no idea why. I don't question it, though. Thomas appeared at my door at about ten minutes after ten, because fashionably late is his lifestyle. I'm pretty sure his salon doesn't even open on time, unless he's got one of his employees doing it. I glanced over at my bookshelf again and saw that both of my pets were still staring, and Mister had begun batting at one particular shelf, over and over again. Thomas raised his eyebrow at them, and seemed about to speak, but instead he just closed his mouth, shook his head, and deflated. He understands my life well.

"Hey there, Harry. What's up with the wards, they didn't seem quite so willing to let me in."

"Had to change them. Someone broke in while I was getting my car. I don't know who, or what they did, but still. I feel better about it, now." I dog-eared the page (bad habit, I know, but I always lose bookmarks), and stood, stretching.

"Do you think it has something to do with that?" he asked, pointing at Mouse and Mister. I shrugged.

"No idea. They get like that sometimes, it's probably nothing." He rolled his eyes and drifted across the floor to plop down beside me on the couch. The asshole even plopped gracefully. In what world is that fair?

"Yeah, Harry, because it's a really good idea to not listen to the animals that have been proven to be smarter than you on more than one occasion." I laughed.

"Shut up, bastard." I then proceeded to flop limply against him, being certain to stab him with my vertebrae whenever possible. See, I like to think that I got all of my gloriously sharp bones for a reason: to stab people. That's literally all they could possibly be good for. I think it's actually a pretty good idea, honestly. I mean, no one's going to suspect it, and the White Council can't get mad at me for it, because it wouldn't involve magic. It's my master plan, really. He made that smirk-y expression of his that usually means I'm about to get one-upped. I'm pretty sure it's a big brother thing. He twisted around and dug into my spine masterfully, loosening the muscle with depressing easy. I groaned pathetically and slumped forward as he worked up to my neck, the bones that I hadn't even realized had been out of alignment going back where they were supposed to be. I whimpered, my eyes sliding closed as he worked. "I forgive you for everything, Thomas. Even the stuff you haven't done yet. I'm not even mad about the suspicious stains on my floor by the fireplace anymore. My god, man, I love you." He laughed.

"Really?" He pressed harder, and I felt such an amazing release of pressure that I wondered how what I'd been living before was even really life. It had to have been a false life, a half-life, created by men who were like how I once was, unaware of the magic of a back rub from a White Court Vampire. He's literally the best big brother in the entire world. He has to be. "What if I wrecked your car and slept with Murphy?" I snickered, and arched my spine back up into his hands.

"Wrecking my car is a very minor offense if this is what I get in recompense, brother mine." He hit an area that was particularly tense, and I let out a moan I was hardly aware existed in my vocal range as he worked it loose. "Don't have to worry about the thing with Murph, though. She'd kick your ass just as easily as she kicks mine if you tried anything on her. She's the biggest badass I've ever met." He snickered.

"You do know how you sound when you make sounds like that, don't you?" Something popped and once again I felt that glorious release of pressure. Apparently my spine was nothing more than a knot before this magic began. I'd give Thomas the entire universe, at this point, if he wanted it. And then he stopped. I growled.

"Hell's Bells, Thomas, why'd you stop? Put your hands back on me now. Stars, I don't particularly care what I sound like. We're alone in my apartment, and you're probably exaggerating anyway." He snickered, and then his Godly Hands resumed their beautiful work. He'd get into heaven solely for this, I was pretty damned sure.

"Your wish is my command, little brother." I sighed.

"You're not that much older than me, dick." If my voice was maybe a little breathy, well, who can blame me? I've never gotten a back rub before.

"Five years is a pretty long time, Harry. Plus that shirt makes you look like a lanky teenager." I huffed.

"I hate you sometimes."

"No you don't."

"Stop calling me on my lies."

"I would, if you could lie worth shit. Your 'we're just friends' argument isn't working for shit on anyone, you know."

"Fuck off," I grunted, as my spine was suddenly actually straight again and my muscles weren't haphazardly bunched piles of barbed wire. It was a surprising feeling, and I just sat there and enjoyed it for a few minutes before I got up. The room was quiet but for Thomas' and my breathing and Mister's endless swatting at the bookshelf. I stretched, and went towards my room. "I'm going to go change out of this, then we can head to the club, okay?" He nodded, and stretched languidly across my couch, which he no longer had a right to do, by the way. I shook my head to rid myself of thinking, because that always gets me into major shit. I dressed into an older plain black t-shirt that I didn't usually where anymore, since it was sort of clingy, and my dress-jeans. Yeah, yeah, I know, if I ever need a job besides being a wizard P.I., I'm going to be screwed, because I look like a hobo even in my nice clothes. In my every-day clothes, I'm pretty sure everyone thinks I'm an alien who got sent down here to infiltrate the human masses but who doesn't understand the concept of 'fashion'. I like it, though. I say it suits me. Thomas still glared at it, though, and continued to do so even as we left the apartment and climbed into a cab, since, funnily enough, they don't have much parking at sleazy travelling clubs.

"I should have dressed you again," he mumbled. The cabbie stared at us incredulously. I realized suddenly that I'd somehow managed to get the same one I had last night. I tipped him extra when we reached the club.


	3. Chapter 3

Marcone's POV

I stared at the listening device before me. I honestly wasn't even sure what I'd just heard. It had sounded like sex, at least from Harry's end, but Harry and Mr. Raith had been calling one another brother. Was it some sort of kink for them? If it wasn't, and they really were siblings, it explained quite a lot, and raised quite a few more questions. I supposed the best thing to do was to call Gard, which I did. I was also quite curious as to the identity of the 'Bob' I'd heard speaking earlier in the day, walking Harry through some sort of procedure with his wards. My door open and Gard wafted in easily, the simplicity of it making even me feel graceless and awkward.

"Ms. Gard." She nodded in recognition, and I took it as my cue to say what I wished to say. "Are Mr. Dresden and Mr. Raith brothers?" She seemed surprised.

"I am unsure, Mr. Marcone. I suppose if one looks at them in the right light, they have some similarities. The shape of their jaw, their eyes. They could be. Why do you ask?"

"Mr. Raith called Mr. Dresden 'little brother' multiple times during their conversation with one another just now. They also sounded as though they were performing an… intimate act." She nodded.

"If they are siblings, that would not be uncommon, due to Mr. Raith's particular brand of vampirism. The Raith branch of the White Court often use sex with one another to display who is the dominant member of the family. As an example, Lord Raith, Mr. Raith's father, is known to sleep with his daughters to keep them in line, and kill his sons to eliminate competition. Most find Mr. Raith to be an exceptional being, for surviving the numerous assassination attempts perpetrated upon him by his father. Lord Raith is known to have had countless sons, and only Mr. Raith has survived. Did he sound particularly domineering?" I shook my head.

"No more than what I've normally heard from him."

"Mr. Dresden also sounded as he usually does?" I nodded. "Then either they are anomalies, or they were not being intimate, at least not in the way you suspect." Relief flooded through me, although there was still a sort of twitching agony. Harry was often an anomaly. I ignored it.

"They must have the same mother then, correct? As Harry is not a member of the White Court." Gard nodded.

"Indeed. Unless, of course, Harry's first was with someone he loved." I raised an eyebrow, and Gard went into an explanation. "The White Court gene dies if the one infected by it gives their virginity to someone they love. If they do this, then their Hunger never develops, and they are human. I do not think this is likely in Harry's case, however, because of his magic. I believe that, if he and Mr. Raith are siblings, then they share a mother who was a practitioner of the Arts, and a powerful one at that." I nodded, and realized suddenly how very little I knew about Harry Dresden. All I'd managed to discover was that he'd been an orphan, and moved here, to Chicago, at eighteen. Beyond that, there was nothing on him, anywhere. Somehow it seemed that, after his birth certificate and a record of him entering the system, he disappeared, and did not reappear again until he came to my city.

"Do you think you could find out who this woman was?"

"Of course. Is there anything else you wish of me?" I nodded.

"Was there someone in Harry's home, when you visited? I heard him speaking to some man named Bob before Mr. Raith came. I think his pets have caught on to the bugs, by the way. They were bothering with his bookshelf all day. Harry simply thought they were being foolish." She shook her head, suspicion dawning in her eyes.

"No, there was no one there, but I believe I know what you heard was. A powerful Spirit, once owned by the necromancer Kemmler. He Named it Bob? My word, but he's foolish. Does he not understand the danger in a Name? That thing could kill him in seconds, if ever it managed to break from its bonds." I rubbed at my skull.

"Can you get rid of it somehow?" Harry is a bit dense, at times. He often doesn't realize that things he likes, things that he believes like him back, could very easily turn on him and kill him. When I can, I like to eliminate such threats before they blossom. She shook her head.

"I'd not be willing to break into his apartment again. His wards were dangerous enough this time," she said, showing me her hand, which was covered in burns. "If he's spent the day upgrading them, as you say, I don't believe I like my chances of tearing them down again, at least not without some background information on their structure and much time to plan. It was shock enough finding wards like that on a door with little to no threshold this time." I nodded.

"Understandable. You might want to get those burns treated, by the way." She nodded.

"I will do so. Ah, and I was looking into where his home connects to the Nevernever, by the way, as you asked a few weeks ago. What I found was rather… interesting, to say the least."

"What was it?" She seemed completely bemused by the mere thought of what she was about to say, and I felt curiosity peak within me.

"Have you heard of the Leansidhe, Mr. Marcone?" I had, a few times. She was a very dangerous Fairy of Winter, a personal handmaiden of Queen Mab who, periodically, attempted to take control of Winter, failed, and endured punishment. She was known for a fascination that often bordered on obsession with mortal wizards, who she desired to make hounds out of, as well as what would be considered sever psychosis in a human. She loved fighting, battle, and she was exceedingly good at it. I wasn't very fond of where this could very easily be leading.

"Mr. Dresden's home leads to her gardens, Mr. Marcone. It seems that the Leansidhe is protecting him." Damn it. I felt a headache blooming behind my eyes. Harry was good at giving me those.

"And she'd not do that without exacting a price, correct?" Gard nodded.

"Indeed. For him to have been given her defense from beings that side of the Nevernever, he has almost certainly made a deal with her."

"Almost certainly?" Gard smiled.

"I realize more and more why Mr. Vadderung likes you, Mr. Marcone. You are a very perceptive man, for a mortal." I smiled. Gard does not afford compliments often, but when she does, they are genuine and valuable. I take them where I can get them. "Yes. The Leansidhe could simply be defending a future interest. Mr. Dresden may not even know she's there." I nodded.

"Well, there's little we may do about that. I'd prefer not to make an enemy of her, so unless she openly confronts Mr. Dresden, and that threatens damage to the city, I cannot involve myself." She nodded.

"This is right, Mr. Marcone. I will try and discover the identity of Mr. Raith's and Mr. Dresden's mother."

"Thank you. I'll be going to Zero, alright? Call me when you find something." She left, and I went shortly after I disguised myself in a wide brimmed hat that hid the better part of my face in shadow, tight jeans, and a tighter shirt. Not flashy enough to be truly noticed by many, but good enough I'd be able to get in. I drove myself, parked my vehicle where it would hopefully not get stolen or vandalized, and entered the club.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to spot Mr. Raith and Harry. I simply had to look for the large cluster of scantily clad women and men who were surrounding the vampire, who had obviously decided to forgo a shirt. Harry looked understandably uncomfortable as Thomas chatted the club-goers up, the exiled White Court prince somehow managing to keep a possessive hand curled around the other's hip. I glared. Truly, Harry was not meant for him. He was not good enough to even share his blood, much less seduce him into sex, as I was certain he'd done at least once, to establish his 'dominance' in the family. No one ever told a White Court Vampire no, I knew. No one could, once they got started. No one knew the exact moment when they became addicted to the sensation, either. I wouldn't let Harry find out; I wouldn't let his own brother do such things to him. I'd take him as my own, protect him, love him as he deserved, do anything but what the damned vampire was. I ordered a drink and watched carefully. Harry nudged Thomas' arm suddenly, and I saw him speak. Raith looked nervous, but nodded nonetheless, and Harry wandered off to the other side of the room, where the light was the dimmest, damn him. I leaned forward and squinted, only to see him speaking to some slimy looking man with his hair greased back and his clothes too new. He held a case in his hand, small and nondescript. Harry pointed at it, and then I felt the twitching of magic in the air, crackling and heavy. It felt dark, though. Not Harry's, then. I cursed, low under my breath, as Raith turned from the crowd around him to settle his eyes on Harry. He'd drawn the entire room closer to him, I realized suddenly. All of them but the man Harry was with. I was growing nervous fast, and longed for my gun, but it had been taken at the door. All I had was a small knife on my ankle the bouncer hadn't found. Not enough to defend Harry, if he needed it, at least not adequately.

The man's lips were moving rhythmically in what seemed to be a chant, and Mr. Raith began to have to work to hold the crowd around him. I could see the glimmer of his skin out of the corner of my eye as he began to truly use the abilities granted by his heritage. Harry had gone wide-eyed, his mouth gaping, and he was moving towards the man slowly, on drunken legs. I stood, preparing to run over, when the chanting stopped and Harry collapsed bonelessly to the floor. The man laughed, until a reddish battering ram of pure force slammed into his chest and sent him flying into a wall. Harry stood and dusted is clothing off with a grin, his duster billowing out around him. He seemed to have this all in hand, but I stepped closer anyway, into a range where I could hear.

"You know, man, cheap parlor tricks like that don't work too great on White Council wizards like little old me." The man on the floor cursed dizzily, raised a shaky hand. "Forzare," Harry grunted, and a whipcord thin strand of power forced the hand back down onto the ground.

"Damn it, you're a Warden?" Harry cocked his head.

"Do you see a grey cloak anywhere? Well, actually, I'm kind of misleading you. I am a Warden, but not willingly, and I'm not here in that capacity. The White Council is a group of lazy old bastards who don't give half a fuck about what you're doing. Hell's Bells, they can't be bothered to care about people like these. I'm doing this because I do care, and I don't like what you're doing to them." The man laughed harshly, bitter.

"What, you a Thrall for the White Court too, like every other fuck in here? You came in with that bastard over there. And yeah, I know it was you. I felt how tough you were as soon as you walked through the door." Harry shook his head.

"This might be a White Court kind of place, but not everyone here is a Thrall. Most of them aren't, and I'm sure as hell not. That guy over there just owes me a favor," he said, jerking his head in Thomas' direction as he walked towards the man. "Now listen, buddy. You're going to break your control over everyone you've pulled this stunt on, alright? And then you're not ever going to do this again, and you're going to politely leave this establishment, and this city, and not come back again. If you go active again, I promise I'll hear about it, and I'm not going to let you off twice." The man was shaking some, and I could understand it. I'd never imagined that Harry could be so truly intimidating, but his face unnerved even me, somewhat.

"You ain't gonna kill me? Or take me to the Council?" He shook his head.

"No. Look, I understand why you're doing this, I get it. It's an easy way to make a quick buck, and hell, it's fun to play with people's minds, but it stains you just as much as it stains them. Every time you play with someone's head, you're messing up your own psyche too. Eventually, you go crazy or you go evil. You're not there yet, I know that, but if you keep this up, you will be, and then I won't have a choice. I don't like involving the Council. I hate damn near all of them, and I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I did. Trial is scary. The threat of death is scarier. Unless you fuck up big, I'm willing to let you go. Like I said, you're lucky I'm the one here and not some of the more overzealous folks that are on that thing. Now break your control." He nodded rapidly, like a scared child even though he was obviously at least thirty, and possibly older due to his practitioner status. He mumbled out another word, and I felt tension I'd been unaware of snap like a chain. Harry gave a crooked smile. "Groovy. Now get out." The man stumbled to his feet and fled as Thomas' power dissipated and the party resumed as normal.

I wondered, vaguely, what it was Harry was talking about, when he spoke to the man. Go through what I did? Trial is scary, threat of death is scarier? I'd long known of the White Council of Wizards, known that Harry was part of their ranks, and had recently gotten the status of Warden, but I hadn't really known what it all meant. I had assumed that Harry would not associate himself with a group he had objection to, but it seemed he had. I'd have to look into the workings of the White Council, now, see what was truly going on behind the curtain wizards had spent so long hanging. Thomas spared Harry a bright grin as the tall man went back towards him, and Harry returned it. I settled back into my seat and took a long drink from my glass. I left about ten minutes after they did, and got a call from Gard when I was halfway home. She told me she'd found what I was looking for, and hung up before I could say a word. Gard has very interesting ideas about the proper use of technology, really she does. It's rather funny when she calls Nathan, as it always leaves him looking terribly bemused. The way those two tip toe around each other is getting a bit bothersome, however. I've been thinking of sending them to Hawaii together for a week or more, to try and force them into seeing some form of sense and admitting that they like one another as more than coworkers and more than friends.

Gard accosted me as soon as I got out of my vehicle and dragged me inside, into the small lab I'd allowed her to build in the basement. As always, a sweet smell permeated the air, thickening it so that walking through it felt almost as though I were swimming. It was a lazy sort of place, surreal in the odd bits and pieces sitting upon shelves, all of which Gard assured me were exceedingly useful in the manufacturing of potions. I often enjoyed listening to her conduct lessons on magic down here, for myself, Mr. Hendricks, and whatever men wished to be better informed about what they could one day face. She'd done enough magic down here herself that the very air sparked with it, much like the air around Harry did. I truly couldn't imagine what it had to feel like within his apartment. I settled into one of the chairs she had scattered about, soft and comfortable, blanketed in the furs of an animal I couldn't identify. She took a seat at her work desk, which was scattered with papers and other miscellaneous office supplies. A stapler in the shape of a dragon head, which I knew was a gift from Mr. Hendricks, was a particularly prominent feature. Her old one, a plain black thing that I had supplied upon her employment with me, was nowhere in sight. I smiled slightly, hardly noticeable.

"You've found out who their mother was, then?" She nodded, and dug around through her papers, producing a printed out copy of a painting of a rather pretty woman with long, black hair, dressed in a corset that accentuated her relatively meager and long gown that stretched her tall body even more. She was smirking, and her eyes were playfully bright. "That's her?"

"Yes. Lord Raith commissioned paintings of all the mothers of his children. This one was created shortly after the birth of Thomas Raith. Her name was Margaret Gwendolyn LeFay."

"That's a rather interesting last name. I'd have thought Harry would be the type to take it." Gard laughed.

"Indeed. LeFay, however, was not her true surname. She took it later on in her life, because of her lifestyle." I gestured for some more information. "Margaret LeFay was known, primarily, for consorting with Fairies and for practicing what she termed 'Gray Magic', or things that were not quite moral, but not specifically against any law set by the White Council. She did this in order to prove the Council's hypocrisy and unfairness, as well as to exemplify its flaws to other wizards, to show that people could still do terrible things with magic and never be tried by the council. It is believed that due to the danger of her lifestyle she was Enthralled by Lord Raith, who had never before bedded a wizard, and looked forward to the opportunity. She is believed to have escaped his hold about five years after the birth of Thomas, and begged help from the Council, which was not given. She went into hiding, at which point she is thought to have met Mr. Dresden's father, Malcolm, a stage magician whom she married. Lord Raith had her killed while she was in childbirth, but Harry survived nonetheless, and, for six years, was raised by Malcolm Dresden until he died of what the coroner called an aneurysm." Damn.

"So she was hated by the White Council. I assume some of this prejudice was inherited by Harry?" She nodded.

"Very much so. Blood is quite important, in the world of wizards. If the parents have bad blood, then so shall the child. I'm quite certain, however, that Harry's attitudes and actions have done little to help the White Council's view of him. I've found out something else of import, however, which explains the presence of the Leansidhe's garden in the area of the Nevernever located beyond Mr. Dresden's apartment."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. As I said, Margaret LeFay was known for consorting with the Fay. One Sidhe she was often seen with was the Leansidhe. In fact, it is believed that the two would often map the Ways through the Nevernever with one another. I believe that the Leansidhe may have developed an affinity for Mr. Dresden's bloodline through his mother. She likely desires from him what she had with his mother, and wishes not for another of her kind to get to him first." As I have said before, nothing concerning Mr. Dresden is ever easy. I'm quite certain that his very existence is a challenge to me. Although, I do very much enjoy a good challenge, on occasion.

"Wonderful, how very wonderful. I'd so love it if, for once, something about that man could be simple. And the White Council, why have they granted him a position as a Warden if they are so inherently against him?"

"The White Council is currently weaker than it has been in many thousands of years because of the war with the Red Court. Their resources have been stretched to the breaking point, and they need all the manpower they can get on the front lines. Mr. Dresden was likely seen as too good of a resource to ignore. It is also probably serving as a way to tie a Wild Card, who has been steadily gaining influence and power in the supernatural world for years, more firmly to their side. Besides, I'm quite certain it is very exciting to see someone who frightens you crush your enemies." I laughed quietly, shaking my head all the while, because it made me think of how Harry himself probably thought of me. He should be thinking of the damned Raith that way, brother or no, lover or no, I didn't care. Not anymore.

"Do you think Raith has slept with Harry?" I asked suddenly, after the room had been quiet for a few moments, because I trusted Gard to tell me the truth. She sighed.

"I do not know, Mr. Marcone. Perhaps. As I told you, it is a normal part of life on Mr. Raith's side of the family. I suppose it all depends on whether or not Mr. Raith has ever seen Mr. Dresden as a threat to his dominance in their family unit. If so, then yes, his heritage may have forced him to reestablish his position as the stronger brother by way of sex." I recalled the expression he'd shown in the car, when I said one of them couldn't have loved the other. It had been twisted with rage, rage he hid easily, quickly, behind a mask of mirth. It had been almost demonic, frightening. He'd shown a similar expression when I suggested that he was unable to protect Harry, and undeserving of his affection, said he cared more for himself. That had been the only time his words had been truly angry.

"Their aversion to love does not extend to their family, does it?" I asked, quietly, and Gard shook her head.

"No, it doesn't. That has always been an odd feature of the White Court. Familial bonds are inherently, intrinsically strong between them. They show the love in very strange ways that may appear immoral, to us, and yet the majority will always come to the aid of a family member. Lord Raith, from what I've heard, may be an exception to that, but his eldest daughter, Lara, has been known to go to great lengths for her sisters, as well as Thomas. From what I've garnered, she is a large part of why Mr. Raith is still alive. Mr. Raith himself has also been known to become very defensive if a member of his family is insulted, beyond his father, of course." I'd dealt him a large insult, then. I couldn't manage to be anything but pleased about that. Harry Dresden was a challenging individual. He had to have done something, at least once, that Mr. Raith perceived as a challenge. I crossed my arms and nodded, once, with finality.

"Alright, thank you, Ms. Gard. Should I have anything else for you, I will come find you, or give you a call." She waved me off, and I stood, went to my office, and began to work through some paperwork as well as listen to the bugs, my mind dwelling on what Harry had meant when he spoke to the dealer he'd dispatched, as well as on how to cut Raith out of the picture, to get rid of the apparently incredibly dangerous Spirit Harry called Bob, to keep the Leansidhe from trying to make Harry into some sort of pet, to keep the man with the survival instincts of a meerkat from killing himself by way of being too damned trusting.

* * *

Harry's POV

As soon as we got back to my apartment, Thomas and I both plopped onto my couch and leaned against one another, both of us trying to force the other back so as to have the larger portion of the couch. I don't really know why I had to do this; since we were in my apartment and on my couch and therefore I had more right to it. Mouse and Mister had apparently not moved at all since we left, and Mouse was now giving me these looks periodically, before turning his gaze back to the bookshelf. I was sort of starting to wonder if everyone else on the planet felt inferior in intelligence to their dog, or if that was just me. Thomas finally sighed at me.

"Will you just go check that shelf and see what they're so interested in?" I groaned.

"You're just trying to get me to get up so you and take up all of the space on my couch." He nodded.

"Well, yeah, but they're getting kind of annoying too. I think this is kind of going beyond 'normal weird pet thing' territory, and into 'you're missing something obvious' territory." I sighed.

"Fine, fine," I mumbled as I stood and stomped over to the bookshelf. Mister pawed at one of the shelves, and Mouse nosed my hand up towards it. I searched through everything on the shelf and found nothing. "Hell's Bells, what do you two want me to find? Did a treat get buried up here or something?" Mouse huffed out a breath, and it sounded suspiciously like a sigh. He nosed at a tiny fake plant I'd been given by Thomas to 'brighten up my cave'. I picked it up and then, I saw it, a tiny foreign object hidden among the plastic leaves. I recognized it as a bug even though I'd only seen one once, and even then it had been from a distance, and Murphy hadn't let me touch it. It was uncomfortably small, and oh shit, I was pretty sure it was actually working. Hell's Bells, how was that even possible? The residual magic in my apartment should have fried it even without me going near it. I walked the thing over to Thomas after I put my plant back on the shelf, because hey, maybe he'd know more about it than me. His eyes narrowed at it when he saw it.

"Well, I think you know why someone broke into your place, now." I nodded.

"Yeah. I think I'm going to have to apologize to Mouse and Mister now. What the hell do we do with it?" Thomas shrugged.

"Step on it? I don't know, you're the one who people stalk, not me." My eyes went wide suddenly.

"Thomas, you do realize what this means, don't you? Everything we've said in here today, someone has heard it." He quickly understood what I was getting at.

"Oh, fuck. Step on the damn thing, now." I dropped it on the ground. My heavy boots slammed down on it with a viscerally satisfying crunch. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, frightened. "Empty Night, what are we going to do, Harry? If someone knows what we are to each other… what if they tell the Council, or my family, or the Red Court or… fuck, anyone?" I dropped beside him like a stone.

"I know. I… fuck, Thomas, I'm sorry. I should've been more careful." Guilt throbbed in me like an ocean rising, and I dropped my face into my hands. Thomas punched my arm.

"Don't start pulling that again, Harry. This isn't your fault. Look, I'm going to go, okay? Maybe if we don't go near one another for a while, whoever found out won't be credible. Just… if anything really bad happens, call me anyway, okay?" He hugged me once, tight, and I could feel him shaking. I flung my own arms around him, because damn it, I don't get to indulge in stuff like this often, and even if the situation was bad, dangerous, I figured I may as well take what I could have. Besides, it might be a while before we got to be around one another again.

"Yeah. You be careful too, Thomas." He nodded.

"Let Mouse and Mister look around and see if there are any more of those around."

"I will. Stars, whoever put these here knows about Bob now too, hell. I brought him out to help me toughen up the wards. It's going to be a little dangerous for me for a while, you too, probably. Be careful, man." He slapped my shoulder and grinned.

"Of course," he said, putting on his very best arrogant sneer. Then he left. I heard his Hummer rumbling away, and rubbed at my skull, plopping backwards on the couch. Mouse nosed my hand, and I smiled.

"Thanks, buddy. You too, Mister. Don't know what I'd do without you guys. I'm going to go to bed now, though, alright? You guys can help me find more in the morning, if there are any others." I went to my room, flopped tiredly onto my bed, and went to sleep.

* * *

Thomas' POV

I was pretty fucking sure of who had had the bugs planted. I'd felt him at the club, tonight, and I was pretty damned sure he was just enough of a bastard to pull this. I whipped my car around towards his house, snarling and fuming and pissed right the fuck off. I'd fix him. I'd keep him away from my Harry, my baby brother, my precious shred of family. I broke every speed limit I could on the way there, sped by stop signs and red lights, and when I pulled up to his gate, I was angry enough to knock his guards out before they could even pull their guns. I grabbed the gate's bars and pulled hard. The sound of them spreading apart was satisfying on a level so deep within me I'd thought that only feeding could touch it. I ran down his driveway, my eyes certainly bright like mercury, my skin giving off a slight glow even I could see. I knocked the door down and was met with a sharp burst of pain as his wards (which I should have expected, fuck), blew me backwards. I watched my skin peel and burn away, curling up, blackening, and smoking sickly. The wounds, however, repaired themselves quickly, and I forced myself back up to my feet and strode forward into the house. The damage wasn't without its toll, though, as I felt the reserves of my strength, already lowered because I was on a nibble-only diet, drop even farther. It was still plenty to kick Marcone's guys' asses, though, as I proved when they ran at me with single-minded determination.

I fought and fought and fought, even though as quickly as I felled one of the fucks twenty others appeared to take his place. I don't know how long I was at it before Marcone himself came down the stairs, his two favorite dogs beside him. All three of them had guns trained on me, but I only bared my teeth at them, feeling rabid, animalistic. When Marcone noticed who I was, he lowered the gun slightly. Not enough that he couldn't get it back up to kill me if I lunged at him, but enough that it wasn't an immediate, ever-present threat.

"Mr. Raith. What a surprise. May I ask why you've broken into my home?" I snarled.

"You bugged his house, bastard." He raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you I have no idea about what you're speaking of. Whose home do you mean?" I clenched my fists, and while I was focused on Marcone, one of his men jumped at me, held my arms at my side. I could have gotten him off easily, but I didn't see much point, just then.

"You damn well know whose I mean. Harry's. We found the damned thing. Or, his pets did, really. What the hell were you thinking, ass?" He kept that eyebrow up.

"Mr. Raith, I have done no such thing. I have no reason to bug Mr. Dresden's apartment, and even if I did, it wouldn't last five minutes around him anyway. Although, I believe this discussion would be better suited for an office, so that no more of my people get hurt. Please, come with me, Mr. Raith, so that I may… eliminate your misconceptions." I was a snarling mess, and I knew it. I was more my demon than myself just then, because Marcone was going to fuck everything up, he was going to hurt Harry just so he could fuck him, and then he'd throw him away. I knew types like him, powerful business men. They'd find someone they wanted, use them, then they'd get bored and get rid of them. Or worse, they didn't get bored, they got obsessed, and then they kept whoever they wanted for as long as they wanted. I worried what would happen if Marcone got to Harry and the man said yes, what would go down if Harry eventually decided he didn't want to play anymore. There was a beast behind those green eyes, calculating, merciless, and deadly. I shook his guys off of me and walked up the stairs to stand in front of him. I had a few inches on him, so I did my best to loom over him even though the fact that I was on a lower step got rid of my extra height. He just gave me a polite smile and led me off to his office.

It was a plain little room, with dull tan walls and a dull wooden desk and dull decorations on the wall. Cold, metal filing cabinets lined one wall, while the red headed linebacker stood against another with the blonde Amazonian beside him. Marcone sat at his desk serenely, hands clasped, and I growled at him. How dare he be so fucking calm about this? I slammed my fists onto the desk and heard the wood groan.

"Fucking prick. I know you know about me and Harry, bastard. I know you heard us talking. Tell me why you did it, so I can be justified when I splatter you all over the goddamned wall." He actually laughed. Empty Night, the dick laughed.

"Yes, Mr. Raith, calm down, please. I simply did not want to discuss it in front of my men, for reasons I'm sure you can understand. I don't wish him harm. You, of course, are a horse of a vastly different color, but now isn't the time, you see. Yes, I do know that the two of you are siblings, and that your mother is Margaret LeFay. I also know how you and yours display your love for family." I clenched my fist and displayed my teeth again. He thought I'd raped him, like my father had my sisters. I hated him, suddenly, with flaming passion, with all of myself, more than I had before. It wasn't just about protecting my brother from people like him, anymore. That was still a big part of it, yeah, but now I just really wanted to piss him off. I wanted to make him angry, like I was.

"Anything my brother and I do is completely consensual and none of your fucking business, Marcone. Stay the hell out of our lives. You can't have him." I saw it, then, the spark of rage in his eyes, before it got locked away again under the cool façade of green. I smirked, harsher than I normally was.

"I'll have who I wish, Mr. Raith, and I see little you can do to stop me. There is nothing you could do to make me think you deserved him, for anything. He is mine, and has been ever since he first stepped foot in my city." I reeled back and punched him hard enough in the jaw that he went flying off his chair. A second after I felt a human steam roller knock me to the ground painfully. It was worth it. I hoped I'd broken his jaw.

"Bastard!" I yelled, "You don't deserve him! No one does! As long as I live, I won't let him get hurt by someone like you again. He's my little brother, and he's been used enough!" I yelled, squirming and trying to get the red head, who I'd now identified as the steam roller, off of me. He pressed more of his weight down onto my arms, as the Amazonian fingered a hammer at her hip. I saw Marcone stumble to his feet on the other side of the door. His mouth was bloody, and I could already see the mother of all bruises forming where my fist had landed, but he seemed otherwise unruffled. When he spoke, it was as clear and precise as it had ever been. Shit.

"Mr. Raith, I want him for forever, not to use and discard. I agree that he is far too good for that. That is what you've been doing with him though, isn't it? Using him?" He stepped closer to me threateningly, his eyes narrowed, but his voice conversationally polite. I tried to kick the red head in the balls, but he got out of the way.

"Lying ass," I hissed, "Everyone wants a piece of him! I've gotten rid of everyone but you who wanted him, you know that? Butters, Kincaid, Murphy, Molly, all of them. You're not going to be the exception." He gave me that same serene smile.

"There is nothing you could do to me, Mr. Raith, that would make me cease in pursuing him. Ah, and what about Ms. Rodriguez, hm? How did she get by your expert guard?" I sneered, and struggled.

"That bitch is part of the reason I defend him this way, ass. She hurt him, so fucking much. He couldn't even stand to leave his house when she left. I hate her. I promised I wouldn't let anyone else do that to him. You included. You'll hurt him. You're an evil fucking asshole, and you'll hurt him. I won't let you." Marcone just laughed again and had me thrown out. I hated him. There had to be a way to get rid of him, since he, apparently wouldn't stop even if Harry and I were having sex, like he thought we were. There had to be something. I supposed a good start would be telling Harry who had put the bugs in his apartment. I went to bed angry anyway, that night, and woke up the same way. The anger was quick to be replaced with fear when I called Harry that morning and didn't get an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry's POV

I was cold, far colder than I should have been, than I had ever been in my apartment. I groped around blindly, and felt that yes, my blankets were still piled on top of me, so I shouldn't be feeling this way. That was when my tired, sluggish mind finally realized that hey, something was wrong. I forced my eyes open and saw it, a tear in the very air. A sweet, spring smell wafted through it, along with a mismatched frozen breeze. Oh, fuck, the Nevernever. Something from the Nevernever was in here. I tried to scramble up, so I could get my blasting rod or my staff or something to defend myself, but a thin, strong hand pressed into my chest and pushed me back down. I followed the hand up a pale, lovely arm, over a shoulder, up a neck, to see my Godmother Lea's unearthly gorgeous face. Her red hair fell in a controlled mess down her back, her sapphire dress sparkling even in the darkness.

"Hush, my child, I am not here to harm you this night. I am here to help." I scrambled back and away from her, tired and confused, frightened. She smiled sweetly, raspberry lips curled just so, and her hand shifted to settle atop my head.

"What the hell are you doing here, Lea?" I hissed. She just kept smiling.

"Can I not visit my own godson, sweet one?" I glared.

"Hell's Bells, maybe if you give some notice first. Stones, Lea, it's the middle of the night." She cocked her head innocently.

"La. It matters not the time, dear child. I care for you, and I have seen the problem that now plagues your life. I should like to fix it for you." Oh, Stars and fucking Stones. When Lea tried to 'fix' my life, she did it in the loosest, most insane sense of the word. I still remember the week she turned my hair green to get me to start taking better care of it. Murph still questions why I wore a hat all that week, when she knows I hate hats. There was also that one time with the rabbit and the pixie wings I preferred not to remember or think about or mention to anyone, ever. I still don't know whether she had an actual lesson buried somewhere in that one, or if she was just bored. I am generally her favorite plaything when she's bored, so a lot of her 'help' gets to double as her entertainment. She still insists on repayment for it, though, and the more ridiculous the service she does, the higher the payment she wants. Hell, she tried to get my firstborn out of that rabbit and pixie wing fiasco. I ended up talking her down to a box of Girl Scout Cookies and a really big rock I still don't know why I had in my lab. Look, that was a weird week, okay? Shut up.

"Lea, my life has been fine, lately. Perfectly joyous and magical and as perfect as it's probably going to get. I don't need you to fix anything for me." She laughed, and stroked her hand through my hair, twirling her fingers around in it. I could feel her power thrum through me suddenly, turn muscles to goo and my mind to mush. I knew I should be upset by that, should try to get away, but the exact reason why was elusive. It felt good, nice, calm, why should I have to move? Why shouldn't I just enjoy it? There was a reason, I knew there was, but I couldn't find it amidst the hazy pleasure. Lea spoke again and her voice was like heaven, her lips frozen and stinging and beautiful when they pressed a kiss to my forehead. I sighed, all my breath leaving me in what quick burst. I fell limp into her arms, and she smiled like how I'd always figured a mother smiled, from what I'd seen of Charity and her kids.

"Of course you don't know, silly boy. Your beloved brother, and your mafia don. They are fighting over you, and I'd like to help you settle them, dearest. You need not more fighting in your life." Huh? What the hell was she talking about?

"Thomas and Marcone?" I mumbled, "They haven't even seen each other since Marcone brought us home from Mac's, and they weren't fighting then." Lea laughed, and picked me up, my body hanging awkwardly in her arms. Yeah, my limbs are way too long for a bridal carry to look anything but awkward, at least when I'm the one being carried. Especially by a relatively petite woman, like Lea.

"My sweet, you're such a foolish darling, truly. They've seen quite a bit of one another, recently. Maggie's blood is virulent in you both, you know. His protectiveness of you is rather astounding, and he believes your mobster is a threat. He isn't, of course, he is simply your intended, yet Maggie's eldest has no way of knowing as such yet. And your intended has an amazing number of unfounded assumptions about yourself and your brother, believes the two of you to be sporting quite regularly. He is angered and jealous and disgusted, as well as worried, for he fears the danger Thomas' heritage could pose." There were way too many big words in that statement for me to understand right now. I felt the cold intensify as Lea carried me through the rip to the Nevernever, felt the hole close up behind us. Her footsteps were soundless on the green grass beneath us, and my feet swayed with her steps. Her dress was soft and comfortable, so I pressed my face against it. She smiled down at me, all the caring a fairy could possibly show visible on her face. She walked until we reached a nice looking cabin styled house.

It was warm inside, with a fire blazing brightly in the hearth. She settled me on a pallet of blankets beside it, and sat beside me, pulling my head into her lap. I let out another heavy sigh, my brain still insisting that this was bad and wrong and I should be doing something, I should be saying something that had some kind of 'f' sound. I finally told it to shut the fuck up, and closed my eyes. Her fingers began to put tiny braids in my hair, and with the rhythmic, gentle pulling, I fell closer and closer to sleep.

"You truly would make the best hound, sweet one," she mumbled, and that was the last thing I heard before I was out. With it, came the memory of why I should be trying to get away. I was too tired to bother, though.

* * *

Marcone's POV

I stared at the device on my table, unspeakably glad that Harry's animals hadn't yet alerted him to the second listening implement Hendricks had placed for me. Lea. Godmother. The Leansidhe. A sudden spark of hate for Harry's mother shot through me. This was all her fault. She was the one who'd consorted with the Leansidhe, had apparently made her the godmother of her own son. If she hadn't then this wouldn't be happening, Harry wouldn't have gotten… kidnapped? Had he been kidnapped? Something had certainly happened, from how suddenly calm his voice had become, how unearthly quiet the room had gotten. I called Gard immediately, even though night had long fallen, and she'd already left the office for the night. Her voice, however, was still crisp and aware, as though I needed another reminder to her superiority over the average mortal. I wondered if she even needed sleep, for a moment, but my curiosity was quickly overridden by my worry.

"Mr. Marcone? Has something happened?"

"Yes, Harry has been taken." She was quiet, for a moment, seemed to be mulling over my words.

"Are you certain? How do you know?" I sighed, more frightened than I wanted to admit because the more time I spent talking, explaining, the more time he'd be alone with that damnable fairy who wanted to do god knows what with him.

"Yes, of course I am," I said, more harshly than I intended, "The dog didn't find the other device you and Mr. Hendricks planted. A woman got into his room, he called her Lea, mentioned she was his godmother. I assumed it was the Leansidhe." Once more Gard paused.

"Godmother? That makes a strange sort of sense, I suppose. The mortals that are willing to trust a fairy will trust it with near anything, including, apparently, a child. If it was the Leansidhe, however, there is little we can do until morning." I growled, softly, my fists clenching into the fabric of my slacks.

"Why the hell not?" I could only imagine her annoyed look.

"By the time we were able to reach her, it would be the Witching Hour, or close enough that it'd make little difference. Were we to attack her at that time, especially with it being so near the Winter Solstice, it'd be little more than suicide. It'd be far smarter to wait until noon tomorrow, when she'll be at her weakest for the day, and pray it's warmer than it has been recently." I slammed my fist against the table, though I knew Gard wouldn't react to my anger.

"So you expect me to wait all night?"

"If you don't want to die, then yes. You've got no chance against her right now, Mr. Marcone. If I thought you'd listen, I'd say let her keep him until Winter's power wanes with the Summer Solstice. I do not believe she will harm him anyway." I sneered at nothing, simply to make myself feel better.

"Why wouldn't she?" I hissed out.

"Mr. Dresden's mother likely made a bargain with her, sir, one relating to him and his protection. That is what having a fairy godmother means, Mr. Marcone. The Leansidhe, if it truly is her that came into Harry's room, will honor her position. She'd never be able to harm a man under her protection. She may try to grant that protection in strange, and frankly psychotic ways, to mortals at the least, but she will protect him with her own life. If she's kidnapped him, it's to prove some sort of point, or perhaps she thinks he'd be in danger if he were to stay here in the mortal plane." I still didn't like it. I still didn't want to let it rest. Still, Gard had made it rather clear that when she wanted to wait, she would wait, whether I went or not, and if she thought it'd be suicide with her along, I damn well didn't want to try it on my own. Besides, I'd have no idea on how to find them on my own.

"Alright, Ms. Gard. I'll wait until noon tomorrow, then. Get a team together, if you can." I hung up before she could give the affirmative I knew was coming, and clutched at my head tightly, fear gnawing at my guts. Even after I went to my room, I couldn't sleep, that evening.

* * *

Thomas' POV

As soon as I couldn't get through to Harry, either at his home or his office, I thought of Marcone, Marcone who'd said he would have Harry no matter what I did, Marcone who could somehow get through Harry's wards, Marcone who was crazy as fuck about my baby brother. Empty Night, I do sound a little crazy too, don't I? I wonder if I'd be any worse if Harry was my baby sister instead. I couldn't recall ever being this weird about any of Inari's various suitors, but then I hadn't been around her as much as I'd have liked to have been, and none of her boyfriends had been batshit goddamned insane like Marcone is. It was early, only about nine o'clock, but I was sure the fuck would be working by now. Unless, my mind supplied, he's deflowering your little brother. I cursed and jumped into my car. For the second time in as many days, I sped off to Marcone's place. I did get caught speeding this time, though. The cop was very understanding, however, at least after I gave her my number. Okay, yeah, my powers do come in handy on occasion. I've never gotten a ticket in my life, and I've broken, at last count, seventy three traffic laws across multiple states, some of them multiple times (like speeding). I kept a little journal of how many tickets I've gotten out of. It was four hundred and thirty three, the last time I looked. I stopped filling it out about three months ago, because it was getting sort of depressing.

When I got to Marcone's place, it seemed even more extravagant than it had the previous night. The guards at the front still didn't have a chance against me, though. I felt sort of bad for one of them, because he'd been there last night too, but damn it, he wasn't anywhere near as important as Harry, so I left him where he lay and ran up to the house. I didn't hit any wards, this time, so I guessed that no one had had time to reset them yet. I crashed by a fuck load of people and up a flight of stairs, towards where I knew Marcone's office was, a warning klaxon going off suddenly loudly. I shouldered down Marcone's office door and got a gun to my face before I could blink. Marcone's eyes were cold and unblinking down the barrel. I bared my teeth at him again, because hell, he thought I was some wild animal anyway, and I had no reason to prove him wrong, not really. I didn't give a damn what he thought of me, if it kept my only brother, my blood, safe.

"I must say I'm not thrilled to be seeing you again so soon, Mr. Raith," Marcone said, somehow managing to be heard over the klaxon and still sound perfectly composed. I barked a laugh.

"I could say the same. What the hell did you do with him, Marcone? Where have you got him penned up?" The barrel pressed harder against my forehead. I pressed closer to it mockingly, even though I wasn't totally sure I'd be able to recover from a bullet to the brain just then, what with the strength I'd used last night. I saw his trigger finger twitch.

"I do not have him, Mr. Raith. Someone named Lea does. I heard it happen." I deflated, completely. Harry's godmother. The one gift our mother had given him that I didn't envy, the psycho crazy fairy bitch. She was dangerous, I knew. Harry had ran from her for years, came across her again when we met. He'd said something, a few times, about her wanting to turn him into a dog, about how she'd been after her pound of flesh since he was sixteen. I still didn't know the whole story, but I knew she'd done him some kind of favor and wanted all of him in return. It was times like this I wished he wasn't so fucking closed off, that he'd just tell me things like that, so I could help when shit inevitably hit the fan, like it always did, where he was involved. Marcone must have seen the sudden desperation in my face, because he lowered his gun and made a call that got the klaxon shut off. "Do you know who Lea is, Mr. Raith?" I nodded, though unwilling. He had resources, I knew that much. He could help me find my baby brother, then I could kick his ass away.

"Yeah, she's his godmother, a fairy. I still don't know what our mom was thinking," I hissed. That was the one thing I was truly resentful about. I didn't care that she left me with the Raith family, because I knew she had to, to save her own life. I didn't care that she'd left me with pretty much nothing but a pentacle and an imprint on my soul for a legacy, because apparently her legacy was shitty anyway, from how Harry's life seemed. So many of his problems stemmed from her, from things she'd done, mistakes she'd made. She was the reason the Fay were so interested in Harry. She was a big part of why the White Council hated him. She'd left him her enemies, her problems, as legacy. I got the better deal. I loved my mother with all I had, and I still do, usually, except when I think about how she'd left her own son to clean up her messes just because he'd been born with magic. "She's dangerous. Harry used to spend half his time running from her. It's gotten a little better, from what I've heard, since she sold his debt to Mab, but she still comes around sometimes, when things aren't going too well, to try and make a new deal with him. She's completely fucking insane." Marcone scrubbed at his hair, cut only a few millimeters longer than a military buzz, graying at the sides. I hated that in another life, I'd probably approve of him for Harry, because he was strong, because he could protect him, but this wasn't another life, this was the one I knew and he just wasn't right, wasn't good enough, and never would be good enough.

"Debt?" I nodded. I didn't quite know the entire story, but I knew a decent amount, enough to get by on. Of course, that was how most things in his life were. He did all he could to keep people he loved out of it.

"Yeah, he called on her when he was a teenager for some reason or another, I don't really know exactly why. She wanted his life in exchange, and he stiffed her for about twenty years. I don't know the reason behind this, either, but she sold the debt to Queen Mab, so now Harry owes her a favor. It used to be three, but he worked two off already. Where the fuck did she take him?"

"The Nevernever, somewhere. Ms. Gard is making plans to take me and some of my men there to rescue him." I nodded.

"I'm coming too then, asshole." He glared harshly at me, and the gun was suddenly up to my head again.

"No. I do not need a liability along." I snickered.

"Yeah, because human soldiers are totally not a liability in fucking Fairy. Mortals who go in there have this nasty habit of not coming back out, especially when Fay like Lea are involved. Hell, you'd be lucky if they all came back home missing a limb. Lea and her servants can make deals with the best of them. You have to remember that she's fourth in power in all of Winter, maybe even third. I've been through her domain before, Marcone. You could use me." He sneered.

"I'd rather not break him free from one brainwashing just to throw him into another." I growled, lunged forward and snatched the gun, only to have a knife pressed into my belly, as if I were part of the Red Court and he could cut open my blood reserves.

"I'm not using the Whammy on my own damned brother, bastard! I've never fucking slept with him, okay? I was saying that to get rid of you, and piss you off, but Harry's in danger and I don't feel like playing games with you right now. I don't like you, and I sure as hell don't trust you, but I can't get into the Nevernever by myself, at least not without a lot more time than we may have, so you're my best option to save him right now." Marcone lifted his chin and puffed out his chest, indulging in alpha male posturing I'd never needed to use.

"Why should I believe you?" he hissed. I laughed, maybe a little bitter, but not enough so that he could truly hear it.

"Because I'm a monster, Marcone, but I'm sure as hell not my father." I saw a flicker of surprise, of shock, dance across his face, which I assumed meant his entire world had just caved in around him.

"A truce, then? Until Harry is returned to us safely, of course." I nodded.

"Yeah, sure. Then I'll kick your ass into next week for all those lusty thoughts you get about him." He scoffed.

"I'm quite certain I'm not the only one, and I would assume he has them about others as well." I shrugged and passed him back his gun as he tucked away his knife.

"No, you're not. There's Murphy, and Kincaid, and Butters, and the Alphas, and his Captain, and his Warden, and, on one particularly horrifying occasion, Michael and Charity. At the exact same time. It was sort of freaky, to be honest. And he does have them, just really, really rarely. It's almost depressing how little that man thinks about sex, compared to how often other people think about sex with him. Now, are we going to fucking go or not? I want my baby brother back." He nodded, and made another call. Five minutes later, he, the Amazonian, the red-headed brick wall, and me were piled into a car with about five other guys, all of them outfitted with really big fucking guns, driving towards Harry's place. I let them in with my amulet, and we found the house empty but for his pets, as expected. Mouse had obviously been pacing worriedly all over the house, and even Mister was showing a bit more than his usual complete apathy. I patted the dog on the head and filled up their food, so Harry wouldn't be mad at me when he got back, as the Amazonian opened up a portal to the Nevernever, neat and clean. I grabbed his sword cane and the old sawed off shotgun before I stepped through behind them. We stepped through into a bright green garden filled with chilly air, and all seemed good and right with the world. Which was, of course, when the motherfucking giant goddamned centipede burst out of a patch of primroses to try and kill us. Fuck.

* * *

Marcone's POV

The thing was huge and dark in color, and the speed at which it moved was horrifyingly fast. It had one of my men down and was tearing into it before they could even draw their guns and open fire on it. The bullets, specially cast from iron, cut through its flesh like butter, and the wounds spouted now-familiar blue fire. The quickness with which they healed, however, was a bit shocking. Another of my men was felled, thrown into the patch of flowers. What the hell was this? I drew my own gun and started to tear into it as well, as Gard began to draw in the earth, her voice whispering out a chant.

"This is Lea's," Raith yelled over the din, diving forward to attack the thing with the sword cane he'd tucked into his belt. The iron dug into it deeply with uncomfortable squelching sounds, digging deep and coming out red before the vampire danced away again. I was once again struck by the sheer beauty of the White Court, of how they moved, the deadly dream that made up their entire existence. His flesh had grown inhumanly pale and shone brightly, as though he were a polished statue, and I knew that if I saw his eyes they'd look like mercury.

"How do you know?" I yelled back, firing another round into the beast. It landed a strike on Raith that sent him flying into the flowers. He coughed, and I caught sight of blood too pink to be human slipping from his mouth. He jumped up, shook himself off, fired the shotgun at the monster, and then ran back at it. There was more blood coming from what appeared to be tooth marks on his chest.

"Primroses!" he hollered, "Harry told me she liked them." Which, I supposed, only made sense since Gard had told me this was her garden. Perhaps this was some sort of guard dog she'd put into place. Gard clapped her hands, her chant finished, and from them burst a sharp knife of darkness that slid down the beasts throat and, presumably, exploded, from the way the centipede burst into many hundreds of bits and pieces.

"Come along," she said, "It's made to reform once killed, in greater numbers. All of these pieces will become a new one, I'm afraid, until the Leansidhe fuses them back together. We'll need to go quickly." That was enough to get Hendricks, me, Raith, and my three remaining men moving fast through the garden, towards a small cabin that had appeared in the distance. Thomas and I led the charge, the stamina granted to him by his vampirism carrying him, fleet-footed, over the uneven ground of the garden, whilst I was shoved on at the same speed by pure determination and rage.

* * *

Lea's POV

Mortals can be quite entertaining, when they aren't being bothersome little creatures. The Valkyrie, while not exactly mortal, was especially annoying, what with her damaging of my little pet. It'll take hours to fix it, now. I sighed, and once more ran my fingers through my godson's soft, still too-long hair. A few small braids hung in it, now, however, similar to those I'd often put in the fur of my longer-haired dogs. Harry, I supposed, would be rather shaggy, if he'd ever agree to let me keep him safe. I smiled down at him and undid the braids I'd done, deciding I may as well decorate him a bit, before his brother and his love came to fetch him from me. I waved a hand over my dress, and from it came thin, shimmering golden ribbon. I braided it into one thick plait over the line where he apparently parted it often. He sighed happily where he lay across my lap, pressing against the motion of my hand as he slept. I cupped his cheek softly, when I was done, ran my thumb over the sharp bone I found. He looked so very much like his mother, really, more so than his brother did, although I supposed his father had overridden many of her traits.

His strength strummed off of him endlessly, mingling into mine like a soft breeze, just as Maggie's once had, and the defiant set to his jaw, even as he slept beneath my influence, was certainly not unfamiliar. She'd never given into me, to what I could offer, and neither had he. I didn't expect him to, truly, and hadn't for many years, yet I shall try endlessly, for I do care for the foolish beast, despite knowing and well understanding his temporary nature, his weakness in the grand scheme of the world. His fight intrigued me, just as hers had, made me laugh and improve myself so that I might help him. I noticed a small scrape on his neck, dipping beneath his shirt, and healed it thoughtlessly, likely along with whatever other minor injuries that certainly coated him, as they always did. He groaned and shifted.

I glanced at the blood toned stone that held a place of honor upon my mantle, cut so as to perfectly fit the indentation on either of her sons' pentacles. She, too, had had little hope in the longevity of her youngest, especially after I told her that he would be born with magic.

She'd known he'd inherit the enemies she'd made, once his magic developed, although I suppose she hadn't thought he'd make his own quite as quickly as he had. I smiled as I remembered the first time I truly met him, when he was only a dirty-faced babe lost within the darkness of the woods, the Big Bad Wolf closing in on him, growing ever closer, ever more dangerous, with each passing breath. He'd not grown up, much, in that time, though I was unsure what I was expecting. It had been little more than a blink of an eye, since that time, at least for me.

His rescuers pounded suddenly, harshly at my door, some yelling, and I heaved a sigh, gently shaking my dearest godson awake. He yawned, loud and perhaps a bit squeaky; his eyes still sleep drunk, possibly a bit high on the goodness he felt, once I sucked the worry, the pain, the memories, away. I stood and smoothed down my gown, for of course I could not look un-put together when I had guests. I opened the door slowly, a smile splitting my face.

"Oh, guests! What a lovely situation, I've been expecting you! Mr. Raith and Mr. Marcone, especially, although I should have assumed Mr. Marcone would bring friends. I'm afraid you all aren't allowed inside, however; this home is dreadfully small, you see." Harry's brother's face went dark and deadly, as though he'd kill me. The thought only made me wish to laugh. He was a powerful being, I supposed, but certainly not on par with me, one of the Sidhe, right hand to Mab herself. My plans to take her down flitted through my mind, but I suppressed them quickly. It wouldn't do for her to discover them before I was ready to go through with it.

Needless to say, I could crush the little vampire before he even thought of moving against me. The don was angry as well, beneath the surface, but he hid his emotion beneath the blank wall of his face, perfect to hide from humans, but little more than tissue paper in the face of a being such as myself. He was so painfully mortal, normal, that I nearly felt a spark of compassion for him, for being so desperately out of his depth. It fled quickly, though, as I recalled that he was here by his own will, through his own actions. He'd been curious, upon meeting my godson, curious about his world, so curious that he began to seek the supernatural out. Perhaps, I supposed he wasn't quite as normal as I thought; most would have died long before now, if they did something so foolish. Through all these thoughts, I kept up my smile.

"Where the hell is he, Lea?" Thomas snarled at me, pure anger creating a mask for him, to hide that he was more afraid than anything; afraid I'd already killed Harry, afraid I'd kill him, afraid I'd offered his darling brother a fate worse than death, that he'd taken a deal from me. I saw it all spinning behind silver eyes.

"Do you mean my darling godson? He is here, of course. I'd not let anything happen to him, not as yet. He's far too interesting to let die so soon, and besides, it would be quite cruel of me to deny my Queen her last request of him."

"Show him to me, bitch," he hissed. I couldn't hold back the laugh, this time. Perhaps there was more of his mother in him than I'd thought.

"Come inside, child, you'll see him. He now rests by the fire. You as well, Mr. Marcone. I should like to speak with you both. No one else, however. You have my pledge that no harm will come to any of you whilst you remain in my garden." Marcone stepped forwards first, standing tall, brave before me, his green eyes sharp as emerald chips. The color, though… perhaps he had a changeling in the family. I allowed him entrance, and, not to be one-upped, Thomas marched in behind him. I closed the door and swept across the room to settle back by my godson, who'd drifted back into sleep, by the fire. Thomas crouched beside him, cradling his head, checking his pulse, while Marcone simply stood in front of me, gazing down at us.

"What'd you do to him?" Thomas grunted, shaking the boy's body to attempt to force him back to wakefulness. I sighed and settled a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He was painfully tense, and I noticed how drawn his face looked, as though his skin were zipped up too tightly around him.

"Simply allowed him rest, dear one. He sleeps deeply and peacefully, without the plague of his night terrors, and will awaken once he leaves my presence."

"Wake him up now." I smirked over at him.

"A child of Maggie you truly are, boy. I do not know why I suspected otherwise. Your stubbornness could only be exceeded by your brother."

"How the fuck do you know we're related?" he yelled, his hands shaking around Harry.

"Maggie was once my dearest companion, boy, and a candidate for Winter's mantle. The day I miss her blood is the day snow falls in Titania's court. Discussing your heritage, however, is not why I brought you two here." Marcone finally spoke up as he settled stiffly on the floor in front of me. Thomas undid the braid I'd placed in Harry's hair. I pouted. "Come now, Mr. Raith, I worked hard to do that. It has been ages since I've been able to play with his hair." He simply glared at me and I smiled as I took the ribbon from him.

"You did not bring us here, Leansidhe. We came of our own will, to save someone dear to us."

"You'll not be saving him, I'm afraid, because I would not harm him for my own life. He is quite dear to me. You would simply be bringing him home from a visit with his godmother, whom he also cares for. By the way, Mr. Marcone, would you have come here had I not done what I did?" He raised an eyebrow, likely running through my words to see whether agreeing or disagreeing would land him in something he'd not be able to get out of.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't have."

"Then I brought you here. Now, my reasoning for this was rather simple. You both care deeply for him, do you not? And yet you fight endlessly. He does not need more fighting in his life, not from those dear to him, not from his friends and his family. Whether he will allow it to continue or not, I won't." Thomas sneered, his thumb running soft circles over his brother's knuckles. The man whined and pressed his head closer to the elder's belly. Marcone slid a bit closer to the two nervously.

"Get rid of that bastard then. He isn't good for my brother."

"You don't think anyone but yourself is good for him, Mr. Raith. You'd keep him shuttered away, if you could. You claim it to be a desire to protect him, but perhaps there is more than that. Perhaps you are being selfish, Mr. Raith, perhaps you'd simply like to keep your only brother for yourself, now that your lover is out of your reach." He lashed out at me, his blade (one of Harry's, if I recalled), slashing towards me. I stopped it with a wave of my hand.

"You don't have any right to talk about Justine! Or my fucking brother! You don't know anything about any of us! You're just playing with us like you always do, you psychotic fucking fairy!" With my free hand I sent a wave of pure, angered power to him, pressed him down to the floor beside my godson.

"Do not presume to call me a fairy, boy. You are mortal enough that I could kill you if I wished, and do so easily. I am one of the Sidhe, and do not forget that. You live, in this realm, because my good will permits it. Do not force me to take it away. You are not my godson, child, and there is not enough of Maggie within you to make me think twice about your death." He fell silent, suddenly, and I released the pressure upon him. He sucked in a heavy breath. Oh, dear. I'd forgotten, again, that beings such as him needed oxygen. How silly of me. Mr. Marcone appeared considering. Perhaps he'd not known of Mr. Raith's former lover, now a servant of his eldest sister, the true ruler of the White Court who held her father's strings and made him dance.

"Leansidhe, please, do not toy with us. Mr. Raith and I do not get along. It is common, among mortals." I giggled.

"Indeed it is. Your kind fight endlessly, and I understand it, I suppose, though it seems rather silly, from way up here. Battling over religion, the color of your skin, the piece of rock you call your home, it's all so temporary and miniscule and certainly not your own choice, really. It all changes like the tides, the seasons. My dearest godson practiced Wicca, you know, for a while. Before he met his Carpenter friend. Still the entire planet is most certainly not friendly with my godson. I want you two to get along, and you will. Perhaps… I believe Harry himself could talk more sense into you two than I myself could. Godson, please do awaken." He groaned suddenly, low and a bit pained as all I'd blocked from him flooded back and forced him up into wakefulness. He gazed wearily around the room, and surprise brightened his features as he recognized its' occupants.

"Hell's Bells, what kind of dream is this? Christ. Lea, are you real, or is my subconscious fucking with me again?"

"I don't know how you can accept this answer, my child, but for what it's worth I am as real as I have ever been, as are Mr. Raith and Mr. Marcone. I brought you here so that those two could sort out their differences. I had been hoping to do it myself, but I suppose you must now step in."

* * *

Harry's POV

I don't understand my life anymore, really I don't. I mean, it's getting sort of ridiculous, even for me. I felt a headache gnawing at the base of my spine, only for it to slide up and began a steady throb behind my eyes. Apparently I now needed to sort out relationship issues between my brother and a mob boss. When had they gotten together, anyway? And why did Lea even care? This had to actually be a dream, really it did. This seemed like the exact sort of thing my ID would want to do for kicks. I heaved a world weary sigh that, yes, I totally have a right to.

"Okay, look, if you two are dating you can't have been doing it for long. What could you possibly already be fighting about?" The room fell silent. Lea coughed. Marcone looked like he couldn't breathe all of a sudden. Thomas burst out laughing.

"You… you think I'm fucking that? Empty Night, Harry, that's ridiculous! Haven't I already told you he wants to bang you? That's why we hate each other. I won't let him sneak into your room at night and defile your innocence. Shit, we already know he can get in there, since he's the one that planted the damned bugs. Or, his Amazonian did, I guess, probably with the help of his brick wall." What? Just… huh? Marcone was trying to rape me, and in order to do so put bugs in my house? Now, I've had some convoluted plans, I'll admit, but that seemed sort of… well, stupid. Yeah. So this probably was my ID. He wants me to do something that'll get Bob to yell 'bow chika bow wow' at me. Maybe he thinks the threat of a mob boss taking my virtue will get my ass into gear. He doesn't know the depth of my desire for complete and utter celibacy, though. He simply does not understand. Marcone glared.

"No, I put the bugs in his house so that I would know if you attempted to do something to him, Mr. Raith. You are dangerous, and his trust in you is terribly misplaced." Yeah, there. My ID was also pretty sure I was too trusting. This all had to be him. Besides, he was literally the only thing in existence that would be dumb enough to think Marcone would go this far just for a perceived threat to my safety. He hated me, and, I was pretty sure, was planning to kill me pretty soon, from the way he'd been acting in real life. Still, I couldn't let even dream Marcone get away with insulting my brother.

"Marcone, shut the hell up. I've explained this already; I love Thomas, and he loves me. As you've apparently found out, we're family. He'd never hurt me, and if you don't stop suggesting he would, I'll shove a hand grenade up your ass, and then, just to make it interesting, I'll sneak uranium into your breakfast cereal. I'll turn you into a nuke." Yes, I know, that probably wouldn't actually turn him into a nuke, but still, that was one of my favorite plots, and it worked in my head. I've got a cartoon sound effect that goes 'PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW KABLOOM!' too. It's pretty funny, especially his expression right when he tastes the uranium in his (probably bland) cereal. Does Marcone even eat cereal? Probably not. That's poor people food. Chances are he dines on gold plated toast and diamond encrusted bacon, with a melted platinum protein shake. Still, the look on his face was a nice mixture: shock that something that dumb would come out of my mouth (as if he doesn't know me), and maybe even the tiniest trace of worry that I could actually do that. I felt pretty proud of myself. Thomas did too, for some reason. Marcone gaped for a second more before he shook his head and spoke again.

"I am only trying to keep you safe, Harry, as you seem far too foolish to do it on your own!" He sounded frustrated. I scratch my head.

"Yeah, sure. I'd have thought my ID could come up with some more realistic dialogue. This is pretty stupid. But, if I'm supposed to be playing relationship counselor, then I guess I should say that if you wanted to keep me safe, maybe you should help me go after the people who actually want to for real turn me into an oblong stain on a wall." He paused, and I felt Thomas' arms settle on my arms, his fingertips digging into my biceps. Marcone crawled forwards, to sit in front of me, his face far too close to mine, and clapped his hands down tightly onto my shoulders.

"You'd allow me to help you?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Marcone. Have you even seen some of the shit I fight? Yeah, if I can get help, I'll take it from pretty much anyone, so long as they're not evil, which you aren't. You're not saint, really, but you do bad for all the right reasons. Besides, I'm not a saint either, at all. I've done… more than a few bad things." Thomas tugged me into him softly, and Marcone followed, though he was quick to pull me towards himself instead. Damn it, I didn't want to get into a tug-of-war again, at least not as the rope. This was really weird anyway. I'd never seen that particular expression on Marcone's face, blazing and determined, warm and open while somehow retaining a strange, hard edge.

"Yes, Harry, killing monsters is so very terrible. I'm sure your soul has been stained irreparably," he mumbled, leaning in ever-closer. What the fuck was he doing, getting into my very own personal bubble? He'd never done his before. I didn't really know how to deal with it. My mouth decided the best method was talking, because hey, that's never gotten me into trouble before!

"I've killed people, too. I'm not a nice guy, Marcone. Never claimed to be. I'm no hero; I'm just a guy trying to save his friends. It's just that, for me, that usually also involves saving the rest of the world too." Even closer. I could feel his breath, too hot against my lips. Thomas' fingers were spasming uncontrollably at my arms.

"People can be monsters too," he grunted, and then, oh, hey there, he was kissing me. Like, full on lip to lip action. With tongue. Thomas jerked me hard and sent us both flying backwards.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, "He thinks he's sleeping! Don't you dare take advantage of him, you dick!" Marcone chuckled, his eyes lazy-lidded as he crept forwards again. I was, yet again, reminded of the first time we'd met, the day I'd seen the tiger inside the man. This was the most I'd ever seen of it outside of his soul. "He's too trusting! I've got to protect him, okay? I've got to keep him safe! I can't let him get hurt again," Thomas was yelling at Marcone but speaking to me, his arms wrapped tightly enough around my chest that I could hardly breathe for them. I hushed him, softly, patted his arm until he loosened his grasp enough that I could speak.

"Thomas, calm down, okay? Calm down, tell me what's wrong." He growled, quietly, almost softly enough I couldn't here.

"Everyone who gets near you wants something, and you'll always give it, no matter what it'll do to you. Hell, if someone you loved asked, you'd saw off your own damned foot before you even asked why they needed it. I have to make sure you don't do stuff like that. I've got to protect you, you know? For forever. I'm the big brother." I just had to laugh, some.

"Thomas, do you not know how many people in my life want to do literally the exact same thing? I don't really let any of them, and hey, guess what, I'm still kicking. I appreciate the help, and all, but I don't need a 24/7 body guard to defend me from all the ills of the world. I've seen plenty firsthand. I can deal with them myself." He coughed, and it might've been part of a laugh.

"Except for people who want to do you. Yeah, you've met plenty, but you don't ever notice, and if you do, you can't figure out how to handle it. That's what I do for you, baby brother. The evil fuck wants you, and he'd do anything. Don't you get that? He doesn't care, at all, if he has to hurt you, or anyone. He just wants you." I scrubbed at my head, far too tired to be dealing with this.

"Not everyone is like that, Thomas. Again, Marcone isn't the best guy in the world, never claimed he was. That's probably Michael, honestly. But he's good enough. I can at least be mostly sure he won't suddenly shoot me in the back when I'm not looking. I mean, yeah, him suddenly kissing me like that is pretty confusing, and when I wake up in the morning I will probably have a miniature gay panic about it wherein something gets set on fire, but right now I'm too tired to care all that much. You shouldn't feel like you have to do all that for me. You do plenty just by existing, and helping me when I need it. You don't have to be my chastity belt too." Marcone smirked, crept close again.

"Come now, you threatened me with bodily harm when I insulted him. Why are you going so easy on him?" I leaned away a little. He followed, because dream Marcone is a creepy weirdo. A creepy weirdo who is a really good kisser, but a creepy weirdo nonetheless.

"Uh, hey, personal space, pal. I would like some. And Thomas is my brother, Marcone. You're the friendly neighborhood mobster. You don't deserve Nice Harry." He smiled. The kissed me again, although this time he pulled away before Thomas could go flying across the room again. I gaped again.

"You're always nice, sweetheart." I want to go home. I want to wake up and go home and forget about all of this for forever.

"No. Nuh uh. Nope. See you. Call me when you're not on drugs." He laughed. Thomas snarled. Lea giggled. And I died a little inside. "Is this dealt with yet? Please tell me it is, Lea. Please." She cocked her head, a smile prominent on her pretty face.

"Well, I suppose they are not as angry with one another as they once were. You may go. I'll bring them back and deal with them again should they begin to cause more issues." I smiled, and laughed happily, because damn it, no more random kissing! I promptly fell asleep, and did not wake up until noon the next morning. I was uncomfortably pantsless during this waking. I've yet to question that one for fear of my sanity.


	5. Chapter 5

I rectified my lack of pants quickly with a pair of jeans, although I found the pants I'd lost slung over the back of my couch. I shook my head at them tiredly and tossed them into the old hamper in my bedroom. Mouse then decided that yes, I was perfectly awake enough to deal with the other bug in my house, which was behind my dresser, where, without my dog, I probably never would've found it. I don't go behind that dresser, you see. There are dust bunnies back there the size of Chihuahuas, possibly with equal numbers of teeth. I'm not equipped to deal with that. Anyway, curiosity sort of compelled me to take the thing down to my lab, see what made it work even with my technobane issues. Besides, Bob would probably find it pretty interesting. Mouse huffed at me when he saw that it remained unbroken, but I just rolled my eyes it him.

"I'm not a cat, buddy; I don't think my curiosity is going to be what takes me out." He heaved a doggish sigh before he dropped to the floor, rolled onto his back, and fell asleep with all four feet in the air. I just laughed a little and carried the tiny device down to my subbasement. "Oh Bob, it's time to wake up, man! So much stuff to examine, so little time, all that crap." The skull in the corner yawned noisily, and tiny orange lights filtered slowly into its eye sockets.

"No bad puns today?" he asked, and I laughed.

"I'm fresh out, sorry. I've had an interesting past few days. Which reminds me, Marcone, if you're listening to this, how about you go walk into another room or cover your ears or something? I've got to figure out how your little toy works. Also, if you want, you can send me a letter or something explaining why my pants were in my living room this morning. I'm confused on that, and you probably didn't let Thomas take me home alone, so you would know. Because you're a dick. Or I could just be mixing up some kind of dream and reality, and I could actually be spouting all this off to the Nickelheads or someone like them. Or an entirely new malevolent entity that wants to kill me. Can never be sure, really." Bob's lights flickered out for a second, then came back on, which I'd grown to recognize as him blinking.

"Boss, are you going loopy on me? Because if you are, I think maybe you need to execute our contingency plan for what you're going to do with me when you go bye-bye." I snickered.

"Yeah, Bob, I broke a nail this morning, and, that being the final nail in my sanity coffin, had a psychotic break. There's a hammer behind my back right now, with which I plan to smash you into a million tiny pieces. Mab will probably thank me." Bob chuckled.

"Uh, Harry, after literally everything you've pulled through, I really hope a broken nail or a stubbed toe won't be the straw that breaks your back. That'd be sort of depressing, and all the bad guys will laugh at you for the rest of eternity and poor little me will be forced to spend said eternity trapped in your dank little basement."

"Shush. Look, that whoever that broke in left a couple of bugs lying around. I stepped on the first one, but I figured that maybe you could check this one here out and tell me what's going on with it. Like, how it's working in my apartment of all places." Bob nodded as I placed the device in front of him, the lights of its eyes running over it carefully, discerningly.

"Pretty complex working, here, Boss. Old, too, surprisingly enough. You could probably pull it off, but there's simpler ways of doing the same damned thing. Besides, this was done with runes, and you're bad at those." I huffed.

"Do you really always have to remind me of that? I blow up one pot, and you never let it go." He rolled his eye lights at me.

"Boss. You couldn't even cut a straight line into clay. They were all squiggly. I told you five times that it wouldn't work, but you insisted on using it anyway. You almost killed the both of us."

"Molly got the fire extinguisher quickly enough!"

"You're just lucky your circles aren't rune-based."

"Shut up, Bob," I mumbled, and he laughed at me again. "Just show me how to do something like this."

"Might want to break this one first, Harry. Don't want any nasty nosy warlocks learning your spells, do you?" I blinked. Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten that maybe Marcone wasn't the one on the other end. Not that I wanted him to be on the other end, I didn't, because I didn't want anyone on the other end. Still, he was the lesser of many, many, many evils. I could tolerate him. Even like him, some days. Rarely. When he's not being an asshole. Which is always. So when he's being slightly less of an asshole. Like when he helped me and all those other people the other day. I dropped the bug to the floor and brought my foot down hard on it. I played pretend it was Marcone's skull. Stupid fucker should know better than to make me sort of like him, sometimes. Prick. Oh, Stars, this is really dumb, isn't it? I'm being dumb. But I always am, so shut up. This is probably better than my usual variety of dumb anyway. At least this isn't resulting in me being shot at. That isn't due again 'til next week, you see. I'll owe Murph twenty bucks if it happens before then, and I, I'm afraid, don't have twenty dollars. Well, maybe in the shoebox under my bed, but that's for emergencies. Ahem.

"Should be good now, Bob. You want to get started?"

"You'll need something similar to this thing, first. Probably a whole box, or more. And you'll need to practice keeping that little suppression thing I taught you for that TV show going for longer, so you don't bust it before you can even get the spell cast." Ugh.

"Bob, these are really expensive. Can't I just use, like, tape recorders or something? Those are cheap." He rolled his eyes at me again. It's really depressing, when the skull is allowed to be condescending.

"Harry, if you learn to do it on tape recorders, it isn't going to work on anything more advanced than a tape recorder. Although, if I were you I'd practice on computers. Or cell phones. You know, so your friends stop hating you." I blushed.

"They know I can't help it."

"You could if you practiced the fucking suppression. Hell, you'd probably get a lot less supernatural attention if you learned to keep it up 24/7." I shrugged, and fell limply onto my little stool, probably looking somewhat similar to a broken marionette. Molly's tidy little desk gazed at my messy workspace mockingly. I really do wish Charity was my mom too, sometimes. Life would really be so much easier. I sighed. But if Charity had been my mom, a lot of people I'd have saved would be dead, right now. I burrowed my head into my desk. A lot of people I hadn't saved would still be alive, too. I shook my head once, to clear the cobwebs. Now wasn't the time to be getting all emotional. Hell's Bells, there wasn't ever a good time for that, for me.

"Yeah, yeah, Bob, I'll work on it. As for now, I'm going to call Murphy. Maybe she can get me some for cheap." I left my subbasement, and heard Mrs. Spunklecrief yelling and banging on my door. I cocked my head. I knew I wasn't late on rent; I'd just paid last week! I was still back a little, yeah, but not enough that she'd actually be upset with me about it. She didn't start getting a little angry until I was three or four months late. I only owed her half a month's worth, right now. Huh. Maybe she needed me to come masquerade as a handyman for a little while. I went quickly to the door and forced it open, pulling hard with most of my weight. Mrs. Spunklecrief stood there before me, slight and bespectacled as always.

"Harry, I received a package for you, darling." I raised my eyebrows at the gigantic box in her arms that seemed to swamp her, although she held it easily. She really is an amazing woman.

"Who's it from?"

"What do you mean, is it done? Does this have food in it? Really, dear, you should know better!" I sighed. Mrs. Spunklecrief is a very nice woman, but she's mostly deaf on the best of days.

"Who is it from?" I asked again, this time remembering to raise my voice enough that she could make out what I was saying.

"Oh! Some nice gentleman, quite young looking, although he was wearing a very nice suit. I believe he's a nephew of the owner of the building across the street, Mrs. Russo. She talks about him all the time, really, and he comes to visit her very often. I hadn't known you two knew one another!" I didn't know anyone with the last name Russo; however, I didn't exactly want to worry Mrs. Spunklecrief, so I nodded.

"Yeah, we've met a few times. He's a good enough kid. No idea what this is, though," I told her, taking the box, which was ridiculously heavy, from her arms. She granted me another smile.

"Well, nice boys like you two should be friendly. Things like that make for the world's goodness." She waved kindly, and I returned it, using my hip to force the door closed again. I settled the package on my table carefully, being certain not to jar it too much. Look, people have tried to bomb my apartment before. I take it seriously, now. I grabbed a sharp, if a little bent, carving knife from my kitchen and sliced through the tape holding the box closed. The contents were more heinous than I could possibly imagine: clothes. Designer clothes. I stared at them. They were so… colorful. Iglared at them and wondered if maybe they'd spontaneously combust. I ignored the fact that actually, yeah, if I wanted them to they would, but it would probably be smarter to use them to track whoever had sent them, because damn it, I don't know anyone named Russo! I had the sneaking suspicion that Molly was involved, though. She's pretty much always involved where my wardrobe is concerned. Hey, maybe Murph would know something or be able track them with physical means, since chances were there wasn't any magic residue on them. Plus I needed to talk to her anyway, so I picked up my old rotary phone and made the call. She picked up on the third ring, sounding a little frazzled.

"Murphy," she said, by way of greeting, having apparently not bothered to check that caller ID thing she was always going on about. The line cracked with static, which probably alerted her to who it was before I even managed to get a word out.

"Hey, it's Dresden. I was sort of hoping for a couple of favors." I heard her yell at someone in the background. Well, apparently I'd called at a bad time. When did I not, come to think of it?

"What, Dresden? We just got saddled with a case of some troll kidnapping people on the bridge. We've got to head out and deal with it."

"Oh, sorry. I can call back later if you want." She sighed, her voice gruff.

"Damn it, Dresden, will you just tell me what you want already?" I shifted awkwardly even though she couldn't actually see me. "And if you say 'me' I'll kick your ass." I laughed.

"Maybe later, Murph, but I was sort of hoping you could maybe get me some of those little listening device thingies for cheap? And track a package for me." I could almost see her stunned expression.

"Dresden, if you want to destroy expensive technology that badly, just go to an electronics store. You can do it for free there."

"I'm not trying to destroy them; I'm trying to make something that'll let me stop doing that. Wouldn't you enjoy being able to use a computer or a phone in my presence? Maybe have the line stop crackling?"

"And you think whatever you're planning would work why? Why do you want listening devices anyway?"

"Someone bugged my place a few days ago, and they were working when Mouse found them. They were done in a way I can't replicate, though, so I can't just copy it." She gasped sarcastically.

"Someone out there can do a magic trick the mighty fire slinging Harry Dresden can't replicate?"

"Shut up, it's rune based. I suck at drawing them, so any spell I try to cast with them goes a little screwy." She laughed.

"Fine, fine. I'll see what I can do. But only because I'm getting tired of replacing the office phone every other time you call. Do you know who put those things in your place, by the way? Do you want me to bring someone out to sweep for more?"

"I've got a suspicion on who did it, and no, Mouse hasn't been acting funny, so there aren't any others."

"And you can deal with your suspicion on your own?" I nodded.

"Yeah, I can. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. Now, what was that package you were talking about?"

"Mrs. Spunklecrief just brought it by. She told me some guy with the last name Russo dropped it off for me, but I don't know anyone by that name. The box is full of expensive ass clothes, all in my size, which is sort of creepy, because even I don't know what size pants I wear half the time." Murphy paused.

"Are there any identifying marks on the box? Like a stamp or something?" I checked over the thing, and found nothing.

"That Russo guy must have hand delivered it, then. No third party involvement by the post office or Fed-Ex or something. There isn't much I can do with it, in that case." Of course.

"Can you look up the name Russo then? See if it's anyone with a criminal record or a vendetta against me or something?" She laughed.

"Harry, do you know how many people with the last name Russo live in this city? A lot. And at least half of them probably hate you for one reason or another. You probably spilled something on at least ten of them during your diner days. Or screwed them over by working a divorce case in your PI training days. Or just met them on the street one day and said more than one word to them." I huffed.

"Well apparently it's the nephew of the owner of the apartment across the street; the one Graver was spying on me in, with the window that looks out right in front of my door, or at least that's what Mrs. Spunklecrief thought, and she's pretty good with faces. If she's seen him around there, he probably at least knows the lady. She could've misheard the name or the relationship between them, though." I heard her sigh yet again. She shouldn't have the right to sigh at me that much. I'm not that bad.

"You're a PI, Dresden. Just go talk to the lady. If she won't tell you anything about the bastard devious enough to send you clothes that actually fit your skinny ass and don't look like you yanked them out of a Salvation Army box, then I'll look into it. Right now, there's a troll situation and I need to deal with it before it starts eating the people it kidnapped." She hung up. I put the phone back on the receiver and decided I may as well take Murphy's advice. Just to be spiteful, I changed into my rattiest t-shirt, an old white thing I'd had since working on Eb's farm. Mud stains I'd never been able to get out, even with magic, marred most of the front, and there was a decent sized hole in the hem on the left side. There was also a magic marker scribble on the back, from where someone in public school had written something on it, but it had faded and smudged so much over the years that it was no longer legible, and I couldn't quite recall what it had said anyway.

* * *

Apparently Mrs. Spunklecrief talks about me with our neighbors, because Mrs. Russo recognized me as soon as she opened the door, and greeted me with a smile. I returned it with the best one I could muster, which probably wasn't too good, but hey. I tried.

"Hey, Mrs. Russo. Um, I was wondering, I got a package today, and Mrs. Spunklecrief said it was from your nephew, but I've never met him. I was thinking maybe he accidentally sent it to the wrong person or something." She nodded.

"Well, he certainly never mentioned you to me, I'm afraid. Of course, it has been quite a while since little Jimmy has come by for a visit. He's been very busy, you see, with his job. I suppose I could give you his address, if you'd like to ask him yourself." I grinned in relief.

"That'd be awesome, thanks." She left the doorway for a few seconds, then came back with an address scribbled on a piece of paper. It was one from all the way across town. I sighed, and said goodbye to the woman. She returned the sentiment politely as I went back to my place, grabbed the box, and hopped into the car. I brought Mouse too. Just in case.

The house was in a decent neighborhood, not exactly gold coast quality, but you could go down the street at night pretty safely, unlike how it was near my place. I'm pretty sure I'd have been mugged at least once by now, if not for the fact that I'm tall enough to be an NBA superstar, if only I had some modicum of talent at sports. I supposed I could always magic the thing through the hoop, but people might start getting suspicious when I refused to go on the court without my six foot long phallic symbol that is totally not an example of overcompensation, thank you very much. Anyway, the little note said his apartment was on the top floor of some recently renovated place, so that's where I went. Have you ever noticed how much of a pain it is to climb twenty or so flights of stairs? I have. Every time I have to go to a building that isn't mine. I really do think the world should be more wizard-friendly.

I knocked noisily at Russo's apartment door, the box propped on my hip. He opened the door pretty quickly, still young enough to have something of a baby face, dressed up in a pair of rumpled pajamas. His sleepy eyes went wide at the sight of me and my box. I grinned and toodled the fingers of my free hand at him. He tried to slam the door in my face, but I caught my foot in it.

"Nuh uh, Jimmy boy, I didn't drive all the way across Chicago to get a door slammed in my face. What the hell is this?" I asked, bouncing the box at my hip for emphasis. He just stared at me, a little in awe.

"Christ. He said that there was a lot of you, but damn." His voice was thickly accented with something I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was some new youth thing. I was certain I didn't know all of those trends, since my only source of knowledge on them was Molly, and she was counterculture, when it came to most of them.

"Hell's Bells, kid, yeah. I'm a big guy. I understand. Now why did you send me a box of clothes, all in my size, mind, when I've never seen you in my life?" He shrugged, leaned against the door to prop it up.

"Nah, you're not big. Just tall. You're skinny as fuck, but you look like a goddamned tree. And you can pull that weird magic shit, right?" I ran a hand through my hair.

"Look, I get made fun of enough by my friends. I don't need some random kid doing it too. Would you please answer my question now? I don't even know my clothing size half the time, unless I check the tag on something that fits before I go to a store, and even that doesn't work half the time, because most of the tags in my clothes get torn out in about twenty minutes. It's sort of creepy, you see?"

"Did you use that magic stuff to find me?" I gazed at him incredulously.

"Kid. You're the nephew of the lady who lives across the street from my. My landlady knows you. You gave the box to my landlady, who gave it to me. Your master plan of me not finding out who you were hinged on me, a PI, being stupid enough to accept a random package I wasn't expecting without asking who'd sent it. The day I need magic to crack this particular case is the day I retire." I decided not to mention that before doing the very obvious thing I'd done I'd thought about both magic and the mortal police. My story was a lot cooler without those bits. He actually blushed a little.

"Oh. Well, the clothes aren't from me, so you don't have to worry about that." I laughed quietly. He blushed again. Huh. Weird kid.

"That still leaves the problem that someone out there sent them, and said someone has very intimate knowledge about exactly what length my pants need to be tailored to. Funnily enough, I'd sort of like to know who this someone is, so that I can be sufficiently freaked out." He shifted to his other foot.

"Look, I promise it isn't a big deal, Mr. Dresden. The one who sent them doesn't want to hurt you." I snickered, and yet again the kid blushed. This was getting kind of strange.

"Buddy, I've gotten some weird veiled threats in my day. And there are some things out there with a really weird idea of not wanting to hurt people that actually turn out to be surprisingly painful." I thought about Lea, of course, of her 'training' to help me kill DuMorne, of the sickly smile on her face as she held the knife, the shadows of her blackberry lips as she whispered, 'I love you, godson'. DuMorne, too, had claimed to love me, to want what was best for me. I laughed to bury those memories back where they belonged. "One guy tied a pair of really nice wool socks to the brick he tossed through my window. People are weird, when it comes to threatening. I always figured that guy was alluding to the possibility of strangling me with really awesome socks, but it never happened. Those socks were really great for when the heat went out, though." Which it often did, in my first apartment. I got a lot more vanilla mortal enemies, back then, when I was working for Nick. It's sort of funny, how much people dislike you when you work for their soon-to-be ex-husband or wife. The missing kid cases never caused that much trouble. The kid blinked at me, then shook his head.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" I shrugged.

"No cases, and the end of the world isn't due for at least another week." He stared at me. I grinned. The blush came again on cue.

"Hey, everyone needs a hobby. Mine is stopping apocalypses. It gets sort of tired sometimes, though, especially when I think about how I usually get paid more for checking garden gnomes for possession than I do for stopping this whole planet from going up in a fiery ball of flaming death. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that this is probably going to be a lot more fun than sitting at home in my underwear while my cat steals my Coke and my dog slobbers all over everything." Did this kid have some kind of disease? I was pretty sure it wasn't normal to blush that much. Maybe he had a fever.

"You're apartment seems sort of small for pets." I shrugged.

"They don't take up that much space, and my cat, Mister, spends half his time roaming the neighborhood anyway. He only comes home when he's hungry, or wants his obligatory fifteen minutes of pets. My dog Mouse is happy as long as I'm in his line of sight and his punchbowl is full of kibble. They're pretty low-maintenance, as far as pets go. They'd only get any easier if they were goldfish. So, at what point are you going to stop asking meaningless questions and answer my not so meaningless one?"

"Do you want to come in?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Hey, pal, if you know about magic, why in the world are you inviting me, a wizard, into your house? I could really fuck up some shit, if I wanted, you know that?" He cocked his head.

"I thought that was just vampires." I laughed. Another blush. Damn it. Maybe I should leave, just so he doesn't overheat or something. Or maybe just call 911.

"I can break a threshold, but it'd cut my power pretty severely. If you've got a good one, which is pretty unlikely, since this is an apartment and you, from what I can see, are a bachelor, I'd be lucky if I could light a candle after breaking through it. That's how it is at two of my friend's houses. Still, if you want me inside that badly, I promise not to hurt you, if you'll promise the same to me." He stepped aside. I stepped in.

It was a tiny place, but still bigger than mine, and clean but for a few beer bottles on the coffee table. Well, that was a little unexpected, nonetheless. He didn't look old enough to drink. I smelled pizza from Pizza 'Spress coming from his kitchen, and yes, I know it was definitely from there. I've eaten enough of that pizza that I could tell its smell from any other brand in Chicago. What really surprised me, though, was the gun sitting in the corner. It was one I recognized for seeing it so often, if not that exact same one. It was the sort Marcone seemed to supply all his guys with. Stars. I backpedalled quickly towards the door, and he looked confused until he saw what I was looking at. He cursed.

"Marcone, huh? He's the one who sent these?" So it was a veiled threat, then. Had to be. He was probably trying to display that even without the bugs he could find out damn near anything about me, if he wanted to, personal things, things I hardly knew myself. "Take them back with a message to go fuck himself, if you please." I dropped them on the floor and stormed out, my magic threading tight around me, tendrils of it whipping around like lighting. I felt something similar to static electricity twitching around in my hair, and took a deep breath. It loosened, some, but not enough. I wanted to go to Mac's very badly, all of a sudden. The arrangements of thirteens would cut through this easily enough, and the beer would be a nice extra. I heard footsteps behind me when I was halfway down the stairs, and elongated my steps so I could take them three at a time. What the kid lacked in size, though, he made up for in speed, so by the time I got outside he had caught up to me. He was panting, though, which did make me happy.

"Wait, please!" he said. I decided I may as well humor him

. He was vanilla anyway. If he wanted to try and kill me, I could take him easy. I recalled saying that a few days ago and ending up with a gun pointed at my head in a moving vehicle, but still. I was usually right when I said that.

"What?" I growled, my arms crossed tightly, my hip cocked some, because damn it, it's a natural position, okay? I can't help it. He paused for a second to catch his breath.

"Mr. Hendricks said to not let you give them back. I don't want to get in trouble with him." Oh come on. Really? Was this kid trying to guilt me into taking that box? The better question was, why was it working? I leaned up against the Blue Beetle, which hopefully looked just ridiculous enough to serve my purposes.

"I don't think Cujo would beat up his own guy." The kid gaped.

"Cujo?" I nodded.

"He's Marcone's guard dog. It was either that, or Clifford, and I figured Cujo was at least slightly less offensive. Everyone gets a nickname, once they meet me, at least if we're not good friends." He paused again.

"You have friends?" I glared. That was actually sort of offensive. Who had told him I didn't? I pouted and asked as much. "Um, Mr. Hendricks said Mr. Marcone thought that. I opened my mouth to speak, decided better of it, got in my car, and left, the kid protesting the whole time. When I got home I had a dozen bright red roses in front of my door, in a vase that had to cost more than I made on the average case. The card sitting in the little holder at the top had a simple message.

**Harry,**

**I supposed these might do quite a bit to brighten up that little room beneath your home.**

**John.**

I glared at the little white card with all I had, and proceeded to put the flowers on the sidewalk. I did take a few petals off of one of the roses, though. I was running out of dried rose petals, since they were in a lot of potions, and hey, these were free. I could dry them my damn self. Besides, they smelled awesome when they were done, and my house could use some nice smells, what with the slight odor of wet dog that had permeated my couch after Mouse decided it'd be really fun to roll around in a mud puddle outside. I did have to admit that Marcone was certainly the best giver of veiled threats I'd ever met. I mean, really, clothes to show he could find out pretty much every little detail about me? Flowers with a message that revealed he knew about my lab? These threats were so veiled one would almost think they weren't threats at all, but that was just ridiculous. This was Marcone I was talking about.

* * *

Thomas' POV

My Harry-is-being-courted senses were tingling. By that I mean Mrs. Spunklecrief, who I paid to call me every time someone delivered something to Harry (which was more often than one would think), called and said a large box had arrived for the man this morning, delivered by a nice boy who was related to the woman across the street from Harry. It'd be really cool if I did have a sense that would tell me that, though. Helpful, and all. She also claimed Harry seemed quite certain there was food in it, although that was probably her near-deafness coming into play again. I figured it was another one of those puppy love situations, where a young guy meets my little brother, thinks he's cool and attractive, and so sends him stupid little trinkets and things. It had happened often enough, over the years, with both males and females, and they were generally pretty easy to dissuade. One sight of me generally sent them running for the hills with nothing but a brand new inferiority complex to show for their efforts. I went and worked my obligatory few hours in the salon, then drove off to Harry's apartment. There was a bundle of roses on the sidewalk directly in front of his door, but I've sort of learned not to question things I see outside his house, especially after the zombie thing.

I walked down the three steps to his door and barged in without knocking, as was my habit. He was sitting sprawled on his couch, spider legs at a hundred or so awkward angles, carefully arranging a large pile of flower petals on some kind of weird paper in a dictionary he kept lying around for what I'd assumed was no reason. He worked determinedly until none of the petals touched, then closed the book carefully and piled a bunch of others on top of it. I'd always found it fun, to watch him do things like that, things he'd learned so young and done so often that they were second nature now. It was sort of similar to the feeling I got when I watched him do magic, but it held a lot less awe and pride and a lot more familial comfort. It was a little discomforting, though, when he didn't even notice my presence at any point during this process. I really do wonder, sometimes, how he survived so long without me to look after him. His survival instincts really are awful. He jumped a little when he finally saw me.

"Stars and Stones, man, could you knock?" I grinned.

"Never knocked before."

"You lived here before, asshole. I don't expect you to just appear in my living room anymore. I guess it's pretty convenient, though, since I needed to give you a call anyway." I moved to sit on his couch, dropping down gracefully, and crossing my legs. I also propped my fist up on them and gave him my best therapist's expression, just to be an asshole, because I love him. He rolled his eyes at me.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Dresden?"

"Well, Mr. Raith, it all started when I was born. See, the Almighty hates me. He proved it by making me be born with this funny disease where I have to smack my stupid, condescending brother over the head with my staff whenever he's being a dick. Oh, wait, actually that might be the one nice thing the Guy Upstairs has done for me." He accented his words with a kick to my shin. I laughed.

"Seriously, Harry, what were you going to call me about?"

"Why did I wake up without pants this morning? I've got a decent idea, but I'd like to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak." I went silent. Without pants? Never did I leave Marcone alone with him at any point last night, for fear of just such a thing happening! My baby brother! Molested by a mob boss! One who could apparently be in two places at once. And then I remembered that while Marcone himself had never been alone with him, his brick wall had. I could feel my eyes narrow. I'd kill him. Painfully and slowly. Maybe I could give him to House Malvora as a sacrifice, then save him, and let House Skavis finish him off. I glared off into space and imagined the brick wall's head on a pike.

"And what is it that you suspect happened, little brother?"

"Well, I got a present today, from Marcone. It was a box full of clothes, all in my size. I figure they got taken off to check the size, even though that pair didn't really fit too well anyway. He also sent me some roses. I put them on the sidewalk, though, except for a few petals, since I'm running short. These that I'm pressing now will last me until I can scrape together the cash to order some new ones myself." Harry sounded… surprisingly cool about Marcone sending him gifts. I had to fix that.

"Harry, he's a mob boss. Dangerous bad guy, remember?" Harry blinked slowly at me.

"Yeah, I sort of realize this. It's not the first time he's threatened me, though. He's just being a little more creative about it, this time, rather than his usual classic menace-at-me-or-have-Hendricks-menace-at-me-until-I-do-what-he-says method." He thought… he thought Marcone was threatening him. How in the world could he possibly… okay, you know what? No. I'm done being surprised at the sheer, pure devotion my brother must have to completely ignore anything and everything that could possibly be construed, in any way, shape, form, or fashion, as a romantic gesture. I mean, that was more than simple obliviousness; it was selective goddamn blindness. In everything else, he was a pretty smart guy, smarter than me in a lot of ways. Still, listening to him rationalize shit like this was almost sad.

"Harry. He sent you flowers and new clothes that are probably very comfortable and actually, real-life fit you. How could you possibly see that as a threat? I know I've told you this before, and you've ignored it, but he wants to bone you. He wants to bend you over his bed and fuck you until you can't stand up anymore. He wants to do it against a wall, on his kitchen table, in his car, over the hood of his car, and on his couch. He wants to kill monsters with you, go for a tea party with Ivy, and have candlelit dinners. I don't know how I could make this much fucking clearer. Empty Night, Harry, he kissed you twice last night." He blinked, slow and confused and so idiotically cute I was glad Marcone wasn't in the room, because he probably would've jumped my dearest baby brother's bones, consequences be damned.

"Huh? That wasn't a dream?" I wondered how badly it would hurt if I slammed my head against his walls a few times.

"No, Harry, that was real life. Lea kidnapped you, we had to come save you, and Marcone kissed you." Another slow blink, this time with a side of raised eyebrows.

"So I really did threaten to shove a hand grenade up his ass and put uranium in his cereal and turn him into a nuke?" Of course that was what he latched onto. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a sane reaction? Ha! Since when have 'sane' and 'Harry Dresden' lived in the same dimension?

"Yeah, but I don't think that's what you should be focusing on. I think the fact that he-" Harry interrupted. As always.

"So that's why he's pissed at me! Maybe I should send him a-" I interrupted him this time. Turnabout's fair play, and all that.

"He's not pissed at you! Let me make this perfectly clear, Harry: Marcone is madly in love or lust with you. I can't really tell which, but they're both equally dangerous for you, where he's concerned."

"That doesn't sound like him. There has to be something else behind it." I reached out and shook him, because sometimes it's just necessary. It seemed to shake some form of sense into him, though, because when I stopped understanding finally dawned on his face. "Hell'sBells." I grinned, because I'd at least finally gotten him on the same page as me. Let this go in the history books, folks, as the day Harry Dresden was finally struck over the head enough times with a Clue Bat that he boarded the Clue Bus.

* * *

Marcone's POV

Mr. Russo entered my apartment late one evening, looking for all the world like a shamed puppy. The familiar box under his arm told me the reason for it, and I gave him a sigh and a smile, to calm him enough to speak.

"S-Sorry, Mr. Marcone. He found me and made me take it back. He's real quick, you see. I couldn't run him down, and I ain't got a car right now, you know, so I couldn't chase after him once he got into that bug." I nodded, and waved him off.

"It's alright, Mr. Russo, I honestly expected as much. I'll simply have to get a bit more… creative, in my delivery, I suppose." He gave a grateful smile as he settled the box on my desk, visibly deflating.

"Thanks, Boss. I see why you like him so much, though, even if I didn't before. He's… not bad looking, especially when he's smiling." A pale crimson flush colored the apples of his cheeks. My own eyes narrowed. Mr. Russo spent the next three months cleaning guns, shining shoes, and ironing suits. I, of course, am not a spiteful man at all, as I'm sure you know. Simply… pragmatic. And if I happened to get a bit of pleasure out of watching the boy doing menial tasks after that, well, that's certainly no one's business but my own.


	6. Chapter 6

Marcone had a thing for me. Okay. That was… that. It was certainly that. And it was… um… something. Yeah. I uh… I think maybe I'm broken, now. Marcone broke me. I always knew this would happen. I always knew that eventually Marcone's obviously already fragile mental condition would shatter, and he'd do something totally stupid and insane and weird and I would go totally mental as a result. Goodbye, cruel world! I must now shut down, and for the rest of my life consider the fact that John fucking Marcone has a… a crush on me. I vaguely saw Thomas waving his hand in front of my face. I blinked slowly, and realized, oh, yeah, he's talking.

"Harry. Harry, come on. Is it really that surprising? Geez, man, don't go all catatonic on me." I stared.

"Thomas, this pretty much destroys everything I thought I knew about that guy. It's… are you sure we're talking about the same Marcone? Is there another one that lives down the street or something?" He smacked the back of my head. I huffed.

"You're an idiot."

"I know, and apparently I'm really oblivious. Or… there's some ulterior motive behind all this! Yeah! Ulterior motives fit more with the Marcone I know!" He started bashing his head against the back of the couch and stared longingly over at a wall. I, yet again, had a serious thought about investing into some sort of padding for them. You know, for in case anything broke in and wanted to throw me around. Then the joke would be on them! I was distracted, somewhat, by a half-formed thought of a big slavering green slimy monster slamming me against the wall, me bouncing off harmlessly, and then laughing as the monster fled in sheer shame, probably blushing a little.

"No, you're just really goddamned oblivious. Stop trying to rationalize," he grunted, finally before he punched me at least sort of gently in the sternum. I grunted back, because that's how us men communicate. I was about to comment that he was the one attempting to rationalize the complex mind of John Marcone into something that was actually understandable to someone else on this planet when my phone rang. Huh. I wasn't expecting any other calls, today. Maybe Murph had already found out something about the bugs for me. I stretched over Thomas' lap and grabbed the old rotary job. The voice on the other side was unexpectedly expected.

"Harry, how are you?" came the smooth, urbane tones of Marcone. I gaped, because I really wasn't quite ready to deal with this.

"Uh," I managed, because hey, I'm a pretty smart guy. He laughed, and it was really… nice, I guess is the best word. I realized suddenly that I'd never really heard him actually laugh. I wondered why I thought he sounded so good happy.

"No insult for me calling you by your first name, Harry?" Oh yeah. I hadn't noticed.

"Stop it, scumbag. You know you're not allowed." Another laugh.

"Now how could I stop, when you're calling me by that little pet name again? And that refusal was horribly insincere anyway. Was there something wrong with my gift, by the way? If they weren't the right size I can, of course, have them replaced." I choked a little. This sounded so… normal. Normal is weird, for me. It makes me feel like something's about to blindside me. Marcone's good at blindsiding.

"I don't take gifts from mobsters. And I don't need new clothes anyway, asshole. Mine are fine." I could almost see his fatherly, indulging smile, as though he were dealing with a petulant toddler. He got that look a lot, around me, so often that I could visualize it without a problem.

"Indeed? Well, I had thought that perhaps you'd like to spend at least a week not looking like the spokesperson for dumpster diving. Besides, I rather like the thought of you walking around town in nothing but what I've bought you." His voice got low, husky. I'd never really understood what the word 'dulcet' meant until he spoke like that. The shiver was entirely involuntary, I swear.

"Uh," I tried again. Thomas was glaring holes in the wall, his fist digging harshly into my spine from where I was still stretched across his lap to get at the phone.

"Well, now that I've gotten you sufficiently speechless, I suppose it would be wise to make my request. Would you like to go out to dinner with me this evening?" If my brain was broken before, it had fallen right through the floor and into another dimension, now. John Marcone. Asking me,of all people, out to dinner. It was like the entire universe was caving in on itself. I mean, really, he could probably do a lot better than the scraggly wizard who lives in a basement. But still. Ulterior motives. Maybe he thought this would get him in good with some supernatural powers. He probably had some sort of big plan in the works, likely one I should know something about. Yeah. So going out with him would probably be a pretty good idea, so I could figure out what he was planning. Thomas was mouthing 'say no' over and over again. I shook my head at him.

"Um. Yeah, okay. Sure. What time?" See? I can be cool too. I could feel Marcone being all amused and shit again.

"I'll be by to pick you up at eight. It would, perhaps, be better if you made sure your… guardian has made himself scarce by then." He hung up. My guardian? Mouse? Why the hell did he want me to make sure Mouse wasn't around? Mouse liked him. I shook my head and settled the phone back into the cradle. Thomas smacked my spine and sent me sprawling over his lap for real. I glared.

"Why the hell did you say yes? Do you have the slightest idea of what he's going to do to you if you go near him right now?" I cocked my head and laughed.

"Reveal his master plan for why he's pulling all this right now?" Thomas looked ready to throw me into a wall. Good. He deserved to be annoyed. No, I don't know why he did, but he just did, okay? So shut up. I know better, and I'm probably bigger than you anyway, so there. If you are actually bigger than me, then please, forget all that. I don't need to be broken anymore right now, thanks. Same goes for if you're smaller than me, but a badass like Murphy.

"There is no master plan, damn it! If you go somewhere with him, and he gets you alone for five minutes, he is going to fuck you! He is going to remove your clothing, bend you over, and put his dick in your ass! Do you not understand what I'm saying? Do you no longer speak English? Should I try Latin? Etruscan, maybe?" I blinked.

"Thomas. I'm a wizard. We can do this thing where the forces of nature do what we say. If Marcone tries something I don't like, I could get rid of him easily. I just want to find out what he's planning, okay? And I know he's planning something. This is probably just some weirdly elaborate plot to get me on his side. Maybe he's planning some kind of supernatural coup and needs me as back up. I mean, he's Marcone, you know? He never thinks with his dick." Thomas actually did shove me off of his couch, but I don't think he actually meant for me to hit my head on the coffee table. I did, though, which is an offense worthy of me yanking him into the floor with me and wrestling for a while. He won, of course, what with the whole vampire thing. It really is sort of unfair, but then, I've long stopped expecting my life to be fair in any way, shape, or form.

"Harry, come on. You liking it is a pretty big part of what I'm worried about. He's dangerous, and when you get attached, you give every little piece of yourself to the person you're attached to. I don't want someone to step all over you again, and he would." I hugged him, and he pressed his nose into my neck. If he were Red Court, if he weren't my brother, I might've been a lot more worried, but as it stood, I just ran my hands through his unfairly soft, luxurious hair, even as it tickled my cheek and mouth.

"Get up, man. This floor isn't exactly comfortable." He stood slowly, and dragged me up with him. "Now look. I don't have a thing for Marcone. Since you're my brother, and since you probably know anyway, I do find him somewhat attractive. You know, when he's not scumbagging all over the place. Me finding someone attractive, though, does not mean I immediately jump into bed with them, especially not when that someone is Marcone." He rolled his eyes and shoved me, which, by the Law of Brothers, meant that I was forced to shove him back, and so on and so forth until one of us (me) got shoved off the couch again. I did manage an 'accidental' kick to his ankle, though, as I was getting back up onto the couch.

"Yeah, like I don't know that about you already, Harry. Hell, if you jumped the bones of everyone you found attractive, literally all of your friends and companions, including me, would have been in bed with you at least once, by now." He said it so nonchalantly that it was almost more disturbing than it would've been if he'd been freaked out about it. I just shook my head and decided it was better not to comment on that.

"Whatever, Thomas." He laughed.

"Can't you call me big brother for once?" I grinned.

"Just because you like flaunting that you're older by called me little brother does not mean I'm going to indulge you too. Oh, yeah, and when Marcone hung up, he said something about getting rid of my guardian before he got here. I don't know what he meant, since Mouse actually kind of likes him." Thomas just gave me a sweet smile I didn't believe for a second.

"Don't worry about it. You've said yourself that he's weird. Now, what time is he coming here?"

"Eight o'clock." He checked his watch, a cheap, old model that I was far less likely to break than his Rolex.

"That's an hour from now. Go get dressed." I glanced down at my clothes.

"What's wrong with these?"

"They're old and disgusting. I know you have something a little better than that, so go put it on." I rolled my eyes and did what he said, because I knew he wouldn't shut up unless I did. I found an old midnight blue button down Michael had bought me for my birthday a few years before, the only one I had that was actually tailored to fit me, and a pair of dark blue jeans from Thomas that also actually, real-life fit. The fact that these things actually fit me, though, was the reason I didn't ever wear them, since I was always scared I'd mess them up somehow if I was optimistic enough to go out in them. It was then I recalled that Marcone had neglected to tell me where we were going. Damn it. Oh well. He could deal with me being my version of dressed up. I left my room and plopped down on the couch beside Thomas as he looked at me appraisingly.

"What?" I finally huffed out, annoyed. He grinned.

"I see why you always wear those baggy things you attempt to pass off as clothes, now." Oh, yeah, of course he needed to make a crack about my scrawny ass body, the dick. I opened my mouth to return fire, but it seemed he wasn't done speaking. "You look hot. Go change into something else, I won't have the bastard jumping you in the doorway." Stones, what was he talking about? I looked like me. Me isn't 'hot'. Unless I was using fire. Then, yeah, I was hot, just not how Thomas was using the word now.

"Thomas, I thought I told you about those drugs. They're not good for you." We bickered back and forth about that for about a half an hour, at which point I heard a knock on the door.

"I guess he's early," I mumbled, forcing myself up and stretching. My spine popped in a couple of places as I did, but that wasn't exactly what anyone would call unusual. I grabbed my duster and slung it over my shoulder, then picked up my staff. You know, just in case it wasn't Marcone. It took me about five minutes to work the door open, and on the other side I was met with Marcone's softly smiling face. Thomas had ducked into the kitchen, for some reason. I sat my staff back into the popcorn tin, and gave him a wave as greeting.

"Hello, Harry," he said, and I noticed that he'd dressed up too, even more than usual. His suit was a dark silk and probably cost about three months of my rent, plus it fit him impeccably just like all his others. It kind of annoyed me. I wondered if he had all the problems I did when suit hunting. Probably not. Suits were made for men like him, men who were tall and broad-shouldered, strong and demanding. I was one of those things, and too much of it. I walk into a suit shop; the employees cringe and attempt to pawn me off on one another. Marcone walks in, they all clamor to serve him.

"Don't call me that." He smirked; his predator eyes lidded, and reached out to settle a hand on my hip bone. It was warm and depressingly large.

"Sweetheart, we're going out on a date. I should think I'm allowed to call you by your first name." I sighed.

"Don't call me sweetheart either. I hate pet names. This isn't a date, by the way. This is me going out with you so I can find out what you're up to." His thumb rubbed circles into the bone and pulled me slowly closer to them.

"You'll have to choose which you despise more, I'm afraid: your first name or a pet name. I will not go out to dinner with someone I care for and proceed to call them by their last name the entire evening." I sighed.

"Harry, then, you asshole. I don't feel like fighting with you about that. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Morton's," he said, his fingers slipping from my hip to curl around my hand and drag me to a dark sedan that looked exactly the same as every other one the man owned. How the hell could he possibly say that like it was nothing? Morton's was expensive. Like, you could buy a month's worth of groceries for what you'd spend on one meal there. I stared blankly at Marcone as he pulled me into the backseat of the vehicle beside him. A goon I only sort of recognized was driving, and he ignored his passengers with a practiced type of ease.

"Marcone, you know I can't pay for that. Can't we go to, like, IHOP or something? I like IHOP. I can pay for IHOP without filing for bankruptcy." Marcone laughed, his hand settled on the upper part of my thigh. I stared at the limb blankly, wondering why it was there in the first place. The thing slipped slowly to my inseam, where it continued to creep upwards. I picked it up with two fingers and dropped it back onto his own lap. I thought I heard the driver mumble something that sounded a little like 'tease', but I had to have been mistaken. Marcone looked vaguely annoyed.

"I invited you out, Harry. I plan on paying." I raised my eyebrows, crossed my arms, and did my best to relax into the soft leather of the seats. I supposed I may as well not complain. It wasn't like I'd ever get to eat there again anyway, I supposed. I shrugged.

"Okay, I guess. You're rich anyway." He hummed, and stretched his arm out over the back of the seat, the movement looking smooth enough that it almost could've been accidental. It really is unfair, how some guys can do that and look all cool, while others, like me, have to look painfully awkward no matter what. I stuck my tongue out at him. He smiled, and once again projected indulgence everywhere. "You're a condescending dick, you know that?"

"Perhaps so, and yet you agreed to come out with me this evening. The hand that had stretched over the seat moved to settle across my shoulders, and he lounged back, his legs crossed at the knee. If there ever was a time that he looked like an actual mafia don, it was then. I'd always known what he was, known he was dangerous, but he'd never really looked like it, before that one moment there, and it was gone in a flash. There was still something strange, proprietary, in the way his hand felt on my shoulder, though.

We pulled up to Morton's, and Marcone insisted on helping me out, just like he insisted on me giving my coat to the guy at the door. I felt naked and vulnerable without it, especially since everyone in the place seemed to be staring at me. Marcone stretched up to whisper in my ear coolly, and his breath was hot and fluttering against it.

"Don't worry over them. They're looking at me, not you. It isn't often I bring a guest like you here." I smirked.

"True enough," I began, as a skittish looking waiter settled us at a table and made a show of fussing over my seat, as though I were some kind of princess. Marcone smiled at him for it, though, so I guessed he was probably working for a tip or something. Although, Marcone's smile had had a few too many teeth in it for it to be strictly friendly. "They're probably wondering what happened to your taste. I assume I'm the first person who's come in here with you that wasn't either a busty blonde model type or a business associate." His hand reached across the table to grab at mine, run a gun-calloused thumb over the thin skin of my knuckle. I felt like I should've been making a joke, but I couldn't think of one. The tables all around us were suspiciously empty, even though the rest of the place was packed. The guy who'd seated us shifted around nervously.

"What, uh," I heard him mumble 'oh god' under his breath, "What would you two like to drink?"

"Coke," I said, thoughtlessly. The guy looked confused.

"S-Sorry, sir, we don't serve soft drinks here." I stared. No Coke? What kind of hell was this? He spared me a nervous glance, before he looked over at Marcone and turned it up to full out frightened, even though to me it looked like Marcone was just being his usual scumbag-y self and wafting amusement all over the place. It stayed like that for about five minutes, the area silent but for the shuffling of the waiter's papers. It was Marcone who broke down and took pity on the poor kid first, though.

"We'll both have a glass of red wine, please. The finest you have." The boy scribbled it down and ran off gratefully. I kicked Marcone's shin from under the table. He hardly bothered to wince.

"I hate wine, scumbag." He rolled his eyes.

"Must you really use that ridiculous name in regards to me, after all the time we've spent together? I'll admit, it was cute, at first, but now it's just getting a bit annoying." I crossed my free arm over my chest and stuck out my lower lip. See, it's not pouting, if you don't call it pouting.

"Good. I like annoying you." He sighed.

"You really are terribly frustrating, honey." The little name seemed to slip out almost thoughtlessly, in that sweet, simple way that I thought was reserved for couples like Michael and Charity. I recalled more than once, how Michael greeted Charity when he wasn't stressed. It was always the same. He'd stride through the door, tall and strong, and sweep her up in an all-encompassing hug, settle a kiss on her cheek, call her sweetie. It made me long for what I couldn't have, sometimes, when I wasn't happy enough to be happy for them. I thought about the scarf Thomas wore, the one he could touch no more than he could touch the girl who made it, the girl I'd once heard him call 'darling'. I must've drifted off, because Marcone shook my arm lightly. "Still," he continued, as though I'd never gone off into space, "For what it's worth, I like you far more than I could ever like any of those 'busty blonde model types'. You're far more intelligent, as well as not being thirty years my junior and interested only in my money." I could feel my face heat up as his thumb shifted to play around with my ring finger thoughtfully, twist the force ring I had there. I tried to slip it away, but he held fast. The waiter came and sat two glasses of wine on the table, then put the bottle in the center, by our joined hands.

"Are you guys ready to order?" I noticed that it was a different guy this time, this one seeming a little older, maybe more experienced.

"Steak," I said, "Medium. And potatoes." This guy seemed to be no less confused than the first. I wondered if maybe rich people spoke a different kind of English.

"What kind of steak, sir?" I felt a little lost.

"There's different kinds?" The waiter suddenly looked at Marcone with that 'did you find him under a rock' look that I was growing depressingly used to.

"He'll have the Ribeye, Mr. Wells. I'll have the same, medium well." The guy nodded and wandered off. I just shook my head, and he took a sip of his wine, continuing to fiddle with the ring around my finger.

"Different kinds of steak. What the hell? It all comes off the same damn animal. I don't get it." He smiled gently at me, but couldn't quite hold back the laugh.

"It's cut from different places, Harry. I ordered what I assume your pub serves."

"Mac's? Oh, yeah. Mac serves the best steak ever. Plus I've got a tab there. Mac hasn't made me pay it since I moved to that neighborhood, either. He's a nice guy."

"Seems bad for business, to allow a customer to do that," Marcone mumbled, half distracted. Apparently my ring had become the most fascinating thing around. "Are you going to drink, Harry?" I rolled my eyes.

"Mac's my friend. I'm not just your average every day run of the mill customer. Plus I helped get his bar accorded neutral status, and I helped him out of a bad spot he'd gotten into, the week I moved into my apartment. And no. I told you, I don't like wine."

"Have you ever tried it?" I looked away. He laughed. "Just take a sip, Harry. I swear it won't kill you." I looked at it distrustfully, raised it to my lips and took a tiny sip. It was a little bitter, with soft, oaky earth undertones, and maybe a little cherry licorice. It wasn't… bad, per se, just… different. Expensive. I pulled the glass away, and saw that Marcone's eyes were fixed on my lips. I licked them self-consciously, and his stare took on a sharp sort of hunger, the kind I'd only seen once before, when Susan had accidentally drank that lust potion, and yet it was sort of different from that. Harsher, more predatory. It made me shiver, a little. I wondered when our food would get here. The twisting of my ring became almost soothing.

"It's good," I said, and my voice was too soft. A person with less info on what a badass motherfucker I am would have called it breathy.

"I'm glad," Marcone mumbled, his voice taking on that same husky tone it had had on the phone earlier, "Now, what sort of problem did you get this Mac out of?" I shrugged. Good, this was easy, this was work. I could talk about that without issue.

"It wasn't much. He'd gotten in with some recently turned members of the Red Court. They were pretty young even by human standards, though, maybe a year or two older than I was at the time. If I remember right, I'd just gotten my job with Nick, and I wanted a drink, to celebrate. I looked old enough that people never carded me, even though I was still technically underage. Mac was trying to get them to leave when I came in, and they tried to drink him. I did a little light show and scared them off, so Mac gave me a free Coke, because of course he could tell I wasn't twenty one yet, seeing as how he's Mac and he knows everything." Marcone looked confused. He'd worked my ring up to my knuckle, but I wasn't really paying attention.

"Light show? You didn't kill them?" I felt heat rise to my face again. I should've figured I'd eventually end up telling Marcone about how pathetic I once was, and, by the accounts of most older wizards, still was.

"I couldn't have killed them, back then. I could still use my fire, yeah, but my blasting rod wasn't very good, because I made it on the fly, by which I mean it was pretty much a twig I picked up outside the train station when I first came to town with some symbols carved into it. My staff was a lot better, but I'd left it in Nick's office. My rings were all I had, and they weren't force rings, like these; all they did was produce light. They worked well enough, though, at least for the time being. Scared off a troll with them, once, but I gave my best one to some little girl. Same case, actually. Kid named Faith, whose parents almost charged me and Nick with kidnapping her. That was when I met Murphy, too, but she was just a beat cop back then." Marcone sighed, shook his head.

"So you've learned a lot here, over the years?" I grinned.

"Yeah, trial by fire will do that to you. Like I said, back then I had a hard time taking a troll down at full strength. It's sort of funny, when I think about it; Murphy's been saving my ass ever since we met. That stupid thing would've killed me and taken the girl, if she hadn't come along, considering I'd been doing tracking spells all day when I met the damned thing. Of course, she also would've arrested me, if Faith hadn't told the truth, and then Nick would've been pissed at me, because he wanted to give the case up after he got the tip about what the parents were doing." My force ring slipped up over my knuckle, but still I didn't pay it much mind.

"Who is this Nick, Harry?"

"The provider of my first steady job. He runs a detective agency, Ragged Angel. He's who I did my three years with, to get my license. Real nice guy, once you cut through the fifty million layers of cigarette smoke. If I hadn't met him, I'd probably still be waiting tables and teaching senior citizens how to dance." Marcone seemed a bit curious.

"Indeed? How old were you when you met him?"

"Nineteen," I said easily, and it was only sort of a lie. I'd met him a month before my nineteenth birthday, the same day the hotel I was staying in had kicked me out for not paying my bill on time. He'd offered me a warm meal and a bed for the night. I'd accepted, and, when I was asleep, I'd had a nightmare of the night I killed DuMorne. I'd called up fire in my sleep. He'd been fascinated, made me explain what I was. When he found out I could do tracking spells, he offered me a job. It had pissed Morgan off, which, in the end, became a big part of why I'd accepted the work. That, and the fact that getting fired every weak did not make for a full stomach and a roof. Marcone nodded.

"This isn't an easy city for someone so young to make their way in, especially not alone." Our food came, was settled in front of us easily. I didn't even notice when my ring slipped off my finger when I pulled away, since I was so engrossed in carving up the gigantic steak settled in front of me. I ate as I cut it, and Marcone watched with the sort of morbid fascination you give to a vulture eating carrion. I grinned crookedly.

"Well, I wasn't exactly an innocent flower by then, Marcone. I'd already…" I trailed off, suddenly realizing what I'd been about to say. I shook my head. "Never mind. I was pure as a lily, all that shit. Corrupted by harsh city life, exposed to the cruel ways of the world far too soon, yadda yadda yadda." Marcone laughed.

"I find that hard to believe. Why did you choose my city, Harry? What happened before you came here?" I couldn't look into his eyes, right then, so I stared at my food and scarfed it down.

"My dad and I lived here for about a year. Longest I'd ever stayed in one place. He said it was because mom always loved this city. We ran out of money, though, so we had to move again. I always said I'd come back, when I could. My dad… he'd talk about mom all the time, enough that I felt like I knew her myself. He was a stage magician, you know? Magic in his own right. He was good, too, even knew David Copperfield before he got famous. Problem was, he hardly ever asked for payment for his shows. He was more interested in doing free ones for kids, generally. I always loved to watch him perform. He told me I could be his assistant, when I got older, but he died before I was big enough." Thinking about this always made me smile. I could remember his face clearly, always smiling, always happy. I remembered his silken top hat, which had gotten stolen from me at the orphanage, along with the one photo I had of he and mom. He and I had the same eyes, a brown dark enough to almost be called black. Thomas had gotten our mother's instead, hazy storm cloud gray. Marcone seemed thoughtful.

"How sad," he said, quiet. I grinned.

"Nah. I've had a pretty okay life. Dad was… I relish the time I had with him. Yeah, sometimes I wish there'd been more, but there wasn't. No point in crying about it, because I'll always have the memories of him. He's still out there, somewhere. Mom too. Stars, if I ever want to reminisce, all I've got to do is pull out a deck of cards. He taught me how to do all his tricks." I laughed. The meat was good, flavorful, but if just didn't match up with Mac's. Maybe it was because his tasted homemade. This tasted like a chef made it. I never really liked that thought. Still, it easily ranked as the second best steak I'd ever eaten, and I've eaten a lot of steaks. Marcone smiled.

"Is it good?" I nodded, my mouth full. His smile turned to a smirk. "Perhaps I should've been bribing you with food this entire time. Where do you even put it all? There's hardly a piece of fat on you."

"Too late now," I grunted, "And it's the wizardly metabolism. Works wonders. Food goes in, gets digested, turns into magic. There's a reason you don't see many wizards that are all that much wider than me." I felt something cool slide up my finger, and assumed it to be some condensation off of one of the wine glasses or something. I didn't bother to check.

"You never told me what happened before you moved here." Damn him. I looked down at the plate again.

"Not much. I got some cash from my guardian, bought a train ticket, and came here."

"Did you have the same guardian your entire life?" I winced, and hoped he didn't see it. I knew that was a vain hope; Marcone caught sight of damn near everything. I could almost see that filing cabinet brain of his marking down my reaction, putting it in a folder marked 'for further study'.

"No. I had… a lot. The foster system is weird. My magic came in too early, because of my dad's death. I punched a kid in the nose, during my second week in the orphanage, and ended up funneling some force into it. I shattered his nose. After that… not a lot of parents wanted me. The ones who did thought they could fix me, and sent me back. I got diagnosed with all kinds of behavioral disorders. I was violent, and angry. Ended up accidentally starting fires a lot. Never meant to, but that didn't matter. All the families thought something was wrong with me. I still remember the one woman who thought I was possessed. Did three exorcisms on me before she finally decided that I was just a plain old demon rather than a kid with a demon inside him. She was the last one to send me back." Marcone nodded.

"I'll assume school wasn't much better for you?" I shrugged. He'd hardly touched his meal, while mine was all gone.

"I didn't go much, because of violence issues. I was always the new kid, and you know all the tough guys have to bully the new kid. I didn't take to it too well, always got into fights. I was so tiny back then, so everyone was kind of disturbed when I was able to bring down guys twice my size. I didn't hit by growth spurt until I was thirteen, you know? Before then I was actually always a couple of inches shorter than average. I stopped going altogether that year, but I went back later, got my GED." Marcone's eyes narrowed.

"You stopped going to school at thirteen?" I flinched, and wished I had more on my plate to eat. I gulped down a sip of the wine. Most people, I didn't have a problem avoiding conversations about this, but there was something about Marcone, something in his voice, his eyes, that made me want to answer. I'd have blamed it on the Soul Gaze, if I'd told Susan any of this, but I never had. She'd had enough of her own problems, had reacted so badly to the Soul Gaze, that I hadn't wanted to burden her further. There was no such compulsion with Marcone. I felt a weird urge to curl up into his arms and take a nap on his shoulder, even though that would look totally stupid because of our difference in height.

"Yeah. My Ma-," I stopped myself, because that word wasn't normal, wasn't used in polite conversation anymore, people always reacted poorly to it. "My guardian didn't want me to. My first long term one, the one who started teaching me magic. He didn't like me or Elaine being around vanilla mortals." Marcone's eyes were cool and inquisitive. His fingers were warm where they wrapped back around mine.

"Who is Elaine?" That I could answer.

"Another wizard. He adopted her three years after me. She was my first girlfriend too, though. We looked out for each other, figured out the birds and the bees together, all that stuff. She's still a good enough friend of mine, I guess, but she lives pretty far away, now." Marcone seemed to be putting together some puzzle pieces in his head. I could see things coming together behind his eyes, and couldn't help but smile a little. I wouldn't say a damned thing without a question, because then I could blame the fact that I kept answering on me being completely incapable of lying.

"What was this man's name?"

"Justin DuMorne."

"And what happened to him?"

"He's dead." I said that clearly, because it always brought me a strange sort of pleasure. He's dead. Dead and gone. Dead as a doornail. Dust in the wind. Just a bad dream, an ugly memory.

"How?" Hell's Bells. I stared at my empty plate again. Marcone repeated his question.

"I killed him. I set the house on fire, burned him alive."

"Why?" He didn't sound accusing. He didn't sound anything but curious.

"I hated him. He wanted to make me and Elaine into his personal defenders, his little army. He taught us magic with pain, because he always thought that was the best teacher. He was… the night he died; he was going to make me into a thrall. He'd already done it to Elaine, a lot. He had her bind me in a circle. I set the house on fire and ran, took Bob with me. Elaine wouldn't come with me. I'd thought she was dead for the longest time, until I met her again a couple of years back. He still managed to send one of the Walkers after me, but I killed it. Then the Wardens caught up with me, and I went on trial for violation of the First Law, thou shalt not kill with magic. I'd have died, but my other guardian, Ebenezer McCoy, spoke up for me." Marcone finally seemed to be looking at an entire picture, but unlike most people, I couldn't see a single trace of pity in his eyes. He squeezed my hand once, comforting.

"People can be monsters too," he said again, as he had in Lea's house. He said it with more conviction this time, though. I laughed quietly.

"Yeah," I said, and my voice was thick, wet. Huh. I hadn't noticed I'd started crying. I wiped my eyes clear quickly, and laughed again, this time more loudly. "Yeah, they can be."

"Do you want dessert? They've got a lovely chocolate thing. A bit too sweet for me, but I'm certain you'd like it." I grinned, crooked as ever, and nodded. Marcone called the waiter over and ordered it for me.

"Thanks, John." That, of course, was when Thomas marched in, and I realized that I'd completely forgotten that my original purpose here was to figure out what the hell Marcone was planning. Oops. Marcone's face displayed legitimate shock when Thomas strolled over and sunk into the seat beside me, leaned against my arm, separated our hands, and slid Marcone's plate over to him.

"Ooh, steak! Hey, man, thanks for ordering for me." He flashed his bright playboy grin.

"How did you even get in here?" Marcone snarled; low enough that I could hardly hear him. Thomas' grin turned feral and sharp for a split second, before it became harmless and unassuming once more.

"The hostess is real sweet. Told me where you guys were just like that." So my brother had seduced the hostess. Wonderful. I'd probably end up having to deal with the fallout from that. I wondered if she would buy that I was his boyfriend and that he was off the market, after she'd seen me come in with Marcone and, from what I recalled, make kissy faces at him all night. I really am an idiot, sometimes.

"Damn it. This is a private party, Mr. Raith. I didn't invite you." He shrugged.

"I'm pretty. I'm invited anywhere I want to go." He glanced down at my hand and saw something that made him gasp. He plucked the limb up suddenly, and oh, hey, something was there that didn't quite belong. A gold band was settled on my ring finger, starkly different from the silver that adorned my other digits. It was a pretty thing, inlaid with delicate, swirling patterns and an obscenely large, reddish gem. I recalled seeing it on Marcone's pinky, once or twice. "This is his," Thomas said, pointing at Marcone disgustedly, as though he were one of the sun tan lotion demons I'd accidentally loosed on his Hummer about a week before. I nodded.

"Yeah, I'm realizing that now. Stars and Stones, how did you even manage to get this on me without me noticing? And where'd my ring go?" He laughed, and pointed to his napkin, which was held closed by a tiny silver ring. Great. So I'd managed to mistake my own damned ring for a napkin ring for the last god knew how long. I sighed. "What in the world kind of point were you trying to make with this?" He smiled.

"You won't wear my clothes, so I'd hoped you'd wear my ring. It looks pretty on you," he said, reaching out and softly petting the skin around the band. Thomas slapped his hand away.

"Get it off, Harry," he grunted at me. I clutched at my skull. Yeah, okay, this was getting kind of ludicrous, and I'd need to deal with it. I'd do it after dinner, though, because the waiter was coming with my dessert, which appeared to be chocolate piled atop more chocolate, with a nice chocolate drizzle and just a smidge of chocolate on the side. I licked my lips and dug into it. Marcone stared at me like me eating dessert was the most fascinating thing ever. Thomas made me share, and insisted I stop licking my fingers, because he's a bastard sometimes. Marcone still seemed pretty interested in my dessert based escapades. Thomas also made me stop licking my lips, and instead started wiping my mouth with a napkin. I gazed forlornly at all the chocolate being lost, and Marcone wrapped his warm fingers around mine yet again. I noted that I'd yet to make an effort to remove the ring, and an odd thought occurred to me as I stuffed more of the delicious treat into my mouth. I'd had fun, tonight. Marcone had been good conversation. I hadn't been frightened. I'd gotten to bicker, some. I'd bothered a waiter. I'd enjoyed myself. That's strange for me, especially on dinner dates, because those usually devolve into monster fights. Marcone had complimented me, and apparently preferred my company to that of busty blonde models. Stones, I think I was starting to understand Thomas' worry. I was also starting to not care. I gave the man a small smile as I finished my food, and stopped Thomas when he tried to pull me away.

"Look, Thomas, I had fun tonight. I don't know why, but I did. I don't think Marcone is planning anything. I'd sort of like to do this again. It's relaxing, and I don't have to be quite as scared of things murdering me as I usually am, when he's around. Do you think maybe you can stop playing big brother for a while?" Marcone looked entirely too triumphant. I needed to fix that. "Marcone, this doesn't mean anything. If you do anything to my brother, try to take me away from him in any way, I will still kick your ass." Thomas looked triumphant now. Ugh. "Listen, this goes for both of you: stop fighting, or I'll beat you both up. It's getting annoying." They looked like kicked puppies, but they nodded anyway. "Cool. Now apologize to one another." They did so, and both looked like they'd vomit shortly after. Marcone had needed a large gulp of wine to even get the words out. I snickered. "Now, Marcone, I'm leaving with Thomas. I'll keep the ring, I guess. You can keep mine. It might do you some good, and I have more at home. Just remember, it's a one and done deal, until you charge it up. It should be full, right now. I did some work with the heavy bag a few days ago, and I haven't used it since then. Now don't send me anymore presents." I swept out with Thomas just behind me, leaving Marcone gaping as much as Marcone can gape, but it turned quickly to a smile. I wondered just how big the can of worms I'd opened that night was as I entered my apartment, but decided not to worry about it until morning, because Mouse was being all cuddly, and he was warm and cozy, and for once Mister wasn't sleeping on my face. I figured I should take advantage of things like that when they occurred.

* * *

Thomas' POV

Shit. Marcone was better than I'd thought, if he could somehow manage to seduce, and apparently propose to, my seemingly celibate baby brother in the span of one dinner. I needed to tear this stupid tree up by the roots, but I was starting to think I wouldn't be able to do it alone. He was my baby brother, mine, and no one was good enough for him. I needed to teach the stupid mobster that lesson. I called Murphy first, then Molly and her parents. The Alphas came next. Finally, after a few minutes debate, I even decided the situation was serious enough to give Lara and Justine a call. After a little more debate, I phoned Harry's mentor, Ebenezer, too. I gave them all the same message, one I'd long practiced giving, ever since the Harry's Protectors club had been formed. I, of course, was the president. Murphy was vice president, obviously, and was the de facto president when I was unavailable for meetings.

"Operation Chastity Belt is a go. The eagless has found an eagle. I repeat, the eagless has found an eagle. We'll meet tomorrow at headquarters, nine o'clock." They all confirmed quickly, and he went to bed plotting which way would be best to kill Marcone; boiling him in hot oil or eviscerating him. Either way, he'd be cutting his balls off first. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, and an image of a tiny ball-less Marcone running around in circles crying while Thomas laughed, a scepter in his hand, a crown on his head, and his dearest little brother at his side, being blanketed by all his guards.


	7. Chapter 7

Murphy's POV

Before I say anything else, I want to get one thing out of the way: anyone with any of Dresden's blood is insane. Automatically, no questions asked, obviously, insanely insane. Thomas Raith, Harry's half-brother, is not the exception to this rule. He's the reason for it. Sometimes, though, crazy people have good ideas. Harry himself displayed that pretty often, when he wasn't proving that he was, in fact, nothing but a human-shaped blob of misplaced chivalry and heroism. Still, he was my friend, and I loved him, even when he was being stupid and annoying. Thomas proved it less often, though, but still, his plans for protecting his moronic brother and my best friend were usually pretty good, when one was able to cut away the cursing and death threats. Either way, if it had been for anyone else, I wouldn't have involved myself in something so stupid. Harry really needed it, though.

That misplaced chivalry and heroism of his generally got him into deep shit, shit he usually refused to allow others to help him out of because 'he didn't want us to get hurt' and 'it was his problem, not ours'. He then proceeds to go rushing into something insanely dangerous with a half-baked, just-this-side-of-suicidal plan and throw fire at things until they go away. He needs someone (a lot of someones, actually) to look after him more than anyone else I know. I got up that morning at eight o'clock and dressed in plain clothes, then drove to Billy and Georgia's apartment, which Thomas insisted on calling our headquarters, and found that it was already pretty full. Thomas, as always, stood at a podium he kept in Billy and Georgia's closet, while Billy, Georgia, and Molly were seated on the couch. Michael and Charity sat in two large lounge chairs, while Lara Raith luxuriated on an old kitchen chair, somehow managing to look like the most comfortable person in the room. Justine was settled on top of a desk, her white hair piled prettily atop her head, and I took a seat beside her easily, keeping one wary eye on the eldest of the Raith siblings. Harry's old foster father, Ebenezer McCoy, had taken a place leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking every bit the surly farmer he was. I rolled my eyes at the picture we had to make, but this was necessary lunacy.

After that thing Harry had with Susan… well, that was the moment that I truly decided Harry needed someone to take care of him, no matter how often he tried to show that he was above any form of assistance. He refused to come out of his apartment after that, wallowed in guilt and grief and self-pity over something that wasn't even his damned fault. I'd never really liked Susan anyway, honestly. I'd always figured she was just using him, and she'd only proved me right, from what Harry had said. She came to a party he'd told her not to come to, ignored every warning he'd given, and yet he still somehow saw her semi-vampirism as his fault. She'd known the risk, and she'd done something stupid anyway. She'd then done not shit to dissuade him from his notion that he deserved the blame, besides a vague apology that she should've known he wouldn't totally grasp. If I could hit her once, with my full strength, as best I could, I'd take the opportunity in a second and enjoy the hell out of it. Now, I hadn't always been the best friend to Harry, I knew that, but I'd made up for it, grown to understand that sometimes there were things he just couldn't tell me. He still felt guilty about her. I'd do whatever I could to make sure he never, ever felt like that again. This club, it helped me do that, gave me other people that wanted the same thing. Thomas cleared his throat after I settled myself on the desk, and began to speak.

"Hello, my loyal members! It seems as though someone has finally gotten through my Impenetrable Fortress of Cock-Blocking, somehow. That someone is Gentleman John Marcone. Last night, he brought my little brother out for fancy steaks and chocolate delights, and put a ring on his finger. Harry kept the ring. We need to deal with this, and I think that operation Chastity Belt is the best method." I honestly had no idea what to say. John Marcone, notorious criminal, had apparently proposed to Harry Dresden, notorious psychopathic wizard Private Investigator, and Harry had accepted it. I hadn't even known the two of them were dating. The looks on the faces of everyone else in the room, except for Lara, suggested that they hadn't really known either. I wondered how Harry had even been keeping his business going, if he had criminal ties now. Well, more than ties, really. I was pretty sure that him marrying the Boss would put him pretty high up the ranks in the criminal world. How had Thomas even let it get this far without resorting to castration?

"How in the world did you even let them date long enough that proposing was a thing that could happen?" I asked. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"Harry didn't even know the asshole was interested until yesterday, and I'm pretty sure he still thinks Marcone has some ulterior motive. I'm going to guess that Harry took the ring to get him to shut up and, what with him being an idiot and all, forgot any other meanings wearing a ring someone else gave you on your ring finger could conceivably have. Marcone will probably be making attempts to get him alone, maybe as we speak. We need to intervene into any situation that could possibly result in them being within twenty feet of one another." McCoy spoke up.

"Why ain't we just shooting the bastard?" Thomas and McCoy get along pretty well, during these meetings. Sure, any other time they're at one another's throats, but apparently they find it easy to put their differences aside whenever they're hatching murder plots for any potential love interest in Harry's life. At this point, the two of them probably have a contingency plan in place for me, too.

"That's Plan B," Thomas said easily. McCoy nodded, and fiddled with the staff in his hands. "Now, from now on, I'm going to be spending pretty much every possible moment in Harry's apartment with him. I'll call you all with missions. Meeting adjourned." He mimed banging a gavel, and when he left, a crude line drawing of Marcone hanging by his toes from a telephone wire fell out of the pocket of his obscenely tight jeans. I shook my head. I'm not allowed to be surprised at things anymore. It's a part of the 'I know Harry Dresden' package. Still, the part of that package that gifted me with a friend like Harry, who was selfless to a fault and braver than half the damned world put together, was enough for me to overlook the bad bits like that.

I wondered if maybe Thomas would trash one of Marcone's cars. That was the sort of petty vandalism I could get behind even as a cop. I mean, hell, I'd looked the other way on bigger offenses than that, and that offense would be a lot more satisfying. Maybe I could bring it up the next time Thomas gave me a call. I got back into my car and drove to the precinct to get the remainder of my actual day started, and spent the entire time staring at my phone, hoping that the next call would be from Harry's elder brother, telling me something I could do to help keep the moron safe in one of the few ways I actually could. If he refused to let me protect his body, then I'd damn well protect his heart and his mind. His call came at about twelve thirty, though, and I grinned as I gave Rawlins my desk for the afternoon.

* * *

Harry's POV

Yesterday had been tiring enough that I slept in until noon, at which point Mouse awoke me, my phone, which was ringing noisily, clutched in his jaws. This situation will probably disappoint you a lot more when I reveal that, no, that was not the first time I'd been woken up that way. It was the third. It's happened four more times since then, if that's relevant at all. I grunted and took the phone from the dog's jaws, and sighed. I'd bought a longer cord for the thing for this exact reason.

"'Lo? 'S Dresd'n," I mumbled, my voice sleep-low and slurred. A deep chuckle came from the other end, broken in half by a spark of static as I recognized the voice.

"Good afternoon, Harry. Did I wake you?" Marcone. Should've figured. I scratched my chest distractedly, and Mouse huffed.

"Nah, Mouse did. Brought me the phone," I said, a yawn distorting the last few words. Marcone paused, and I assumed he was digesting the information I'd just provided.

"Your dog brings you your phone?" I could see him shaking his head as he remembered just who he was speaking with. "Never mind. I called to see if you'd like to go to a movie this evening." I raised my eyebrows at the air. Mouse snuffled and put his head on my leg. I ran a hand through the thick ruff of fur around his neck.

"Hey, Marcone, you do 'member who you're talking to, right? Bane on all technol'gy? Murd'rer of computers an' cell phones an', yeah, movies." I probably shouldn't be talking to Marcone while tired. It didn't seem like a good idea, for some reason. I can't imagine why. Marcone let out a huffing laugh that sounded a little like Mouse.

"Mother of God, Harry, please don't talk to people on the phone when you're just waking up," he said, voice a little tense. The line snapped and stuttered angrily. Look, I have a lot less control of it when I'm tired, okay? It really isn't my fault. Besides, he was making fun of how I was talking, even though it was his fault I sounded like this.

"Shut up, scumbag," I grumbled, "Issat it? If you jus' called to make fun of me, then I'm going back to bed." I could hear his smirk. See, before I met Marcone, I wasn't even totally sure what a smirk was. Now, after so many years of knowing him, I can hear when someone's doing it. Well, hear when Marcone does it, at least. I've still never met anyone who smirked quite like Marcone.

"Well, I'd been planning to tell you that I rented out a local theatre and had a few movies you enjoy converted to play on an antique projector." Marcone… rented out a theatre. An entire theatre. And had movies I liked converted to a format in which I could watch them without spending over half my concentration on keeping a suppression going. How did he even know what movies I liked anyway? This was just… weird. It was weird. I kind of had to admit that I maybe sort of liked someone doing something so nice for me, even if it was exceedingly creepy and stalker-y, though. I glanced down at the ring on my finger that I hadn't bothered to remove. The gold glittered prettily in the candlelight, and the gem, which I'd finally recalled was a garnet, glimmered darkly. I, for some reason, hadn't particularly wanted to take it off once I'd gone to bed. I found myself waking up pretty quickly.

"Okay. Uh, is there any reason that you bought out an entire theatre and spent probably a lot of money to convert movies that you shouldn't even have any idea that I like to play on something I can be in contact with?" Marcone chuckled warmly, not unkindly, with a note of genuine happiness I was still having a hard time associating with him.

"Shouldn't it be obvious at this point, Harry? I enjoy your company, and wish to have it more often, perhaps for the rest of my life. I care deeply for you." He spoke clearly, sharply, his words coming with an ease of truth I could hardly understand.

"Um?" I said, quick witted even in my surprise. Marcone chuckled again.

"I'd like an actual answer, dear." The air received the wrath of my glare yet again. I swear I could feel it fleeing from my vicinity.

"It's no if you don't stop talking to me like you would a girl," I hissed. Another laugh from his end.

"Harry, I'm quite certain I could never mistake you for a woman. You're very obviously all man. Now, may I have an answer instead of an avoidance tactic?" I… sort of wasn't sure if I should be insulted or not. I also wasn't sure about what I should say. The last time I'd gone out with him, I'd done it because I wanted to see what he was up to. This time, I wouldn't have that excuse. If I went, it would be because I wanted to, no excuses. This shouldn't be so hard. I should just be able to say no on principle, because that was what was right and good and proper, because I was the good guy and he was the bad guy. I shouldn't have enjoyed his company. I shouldn't be thinking about going. I shouldn't be… shouldn't be… I glanced at the ring again.

Marcone hadn't ever been bad to me, had he? Not really, not after we met that first time, and he hadn't done what he did then out of any actual spite towards me. I still hated what he did, though, what he stood for. He was the figurehead of this city's underbelly, the darkness that lurked under the rapid fire activities of the everyday, mundane population. He'd helped me before, though, saved my life more than once. I didn't really know what he was to me, though, what to call him. Enemy? No, I didn't hate him, I wasn't sure I ever had. There were some occasions wherein I could actually say I sort of liked the guy, like when I saw him with little Amanda, or when he saved my ass from that auction thing. Ally? It was more than that. Friend? That didn't feel right either. I was confused, mentally hysteric, all that. That's why I said what I did, I swear.

"Yeah, alright. When do you want to go?"

"Three o'clock, perhaps? I'll be by to pick you up at two. We can have lunch together." He sounded so… excited. He was really making it hard to see him as an inhuman robot-beast whose only programming instruction was 'be a scumbag'.

"I'll be here, I guess. Bye, John." He hung up, and I gave to phone back to Mouse. Shut up. Now. What does one wear to a movie with a mafia don? Well, I just found something out; there are questions you never think you're going to ask, and then there are questions that you never knew existed. I was pretty sure that this question I'd just asked was on par with 'how do I give a possum a pedicure?' I scratched my head as the doorbell rang and I wandered into my living room to open. Thomas stood on the other side, and, him being Thomas and all, immediately began to yell at me.

"Empty Night, Harry, why in the world are you answering the door at noon in your underwear? Are you an idiot? There are molesters out there! Waiting to molest you! Don't you want to remain unmolested?" Stars and Stones. There are no other words for that. I shook my head.

"Thomas, I'm not going to be molested. I have no idea what you're even saying, honestly. Why are you here anyway?" He pouted and shouldered his way inside, slamming my door behind him. It's really unfair that he's allowed to slam that door and I'm not. The bastard. I don't even know how he does it. I say the stupid thing just likes him.

"Can't I just come for a visit with my baby brother?"

"I saw you less often than this when we were living together. Besides, I'm going out later today anyway." Tension flooded him immediately, and he grabbed my biceps in a nearly bruising grip.

"Where are you going?" I tried to jerk free, but Thomas' heritage means he's a hell of a lot stronger than I am. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, because I knew Thomas wouldn't hurt me, but it was hard to remember a time when I couldn't get away that didn't result in me being injured.

"John invited me to go to a movie," I said, using his first name without really thinking about it, which was weird, since I usually just used it to piss him off. Come to think of it, though, it hadn't been bothering him much, lately. Weird. I'd have to find something else to bother him with. Thomas shook me some.

"Idiot! Why are you doing that?" I shrugged, and gave my best sidelong smile.

"He's not a bad guy, not really. Besides, I hardly ever get to go to movies. It'll be fun for me." I could feel Thomas' fingers twitching and pulsing around my arm, saw his face twist somewhat angrily.

"Can't you listen to me for once? He's bad news!" I finally managed to shrug him off, even though it made my arms throb with the annoyed sort of pain I was used to, and had come to understand as my body telling me I should go fuck myself.

"He was fine last night, Thomas! I don't think he's going to suddenly decide I'd look better with a knife in my back. Haven't I always been a good judge of character?" He gave me an incredulous look, crossed his arms.

"No. No, you haven't. You trust me, right?" I raised my eyebrows and nodded. "See? Bad judge of character. I'm a vampire, and you let me live in your house, eat your food, and sleep in the next room. You've also got a spirit in your basement that, if let out, could kill you in a second if it wanted. You have a fairy, who has been proven to want to make you into a nice little puppy, living in the part of the Nevernever connecting to your house, and you've yet to bother about trying to fix that. You trust anyone that plays nice with you, because not many people do, and you take kindness where you can get it, no matter how dangerous the source is. I'm not worried that Marcone is going to betray you, Harry. I'm worried that he'll get tired of you, or worse, you'll get tired of him and he'll want to keep playing." I ran a hand through my hair, and felt it stand up on end.

"I'm not dating him, Thomas. I just think that maybe I should be on friendlier terms with someone who has saved my life at least three times." Thomas growled, low and rumbling.

"Yeah? Well he wants a hell of a lot more than 'friendly'. If you do this, you're going to be telling him you're interested in more too."

"That's why I'll explain all that today." Thomas looked frustrated, angry, desperate, and dangerous for a split second, and then it all disappeared. His face turned cool, almost accepting. I didn't trust it one bit.

"Fine. I won't stop you, as if I could anyway. Have fun, and be careful. Find a payphone or something and call me here if anything happens." I smiled, and he looked so downtrodden that I had to give him a hug. I mean, hell, he is my brother. He's terribly overprotective, and apparently thinks that me surviving so long without him was just some odd fluke, but I love him. He patted my back and pressed a wet kiss to my cheek. I stuck my tongue out at him. He snickered. "Go get dressed, idiot. And try and be all unattractive, okay? Or as unattractive as you can be." I rolled my eyes and went back to my bedroom. I heard Thomas making a call, but figured it was probably nothing as I threw on a t-shirt and jeans, both of which were only probably clean. Either way, they were good enough, so I grabbed a book and went into the living room, where I dropped onto the couch beside Thomas. He looked at me appraisingly. I sighed.

"What?" I huffed. He pursed his lips.

"Do you have any of my old clothes lying around? They'd fit you a lot worse than those." I glanced down at my shirt, which was two sizes too large, and my jeans, which were hanging on only by virtue of my hips.

"Thomas, if these pants fit any worse they'd fall off, and you know I don't have a belt. What's wrong with these?"

"They're cute on you, in an ill-fitting eccentric slacker sort of way. Mine would look more dirt broke and uncaring, which I think is a lot better look for you, at least when you're going out in public." I stared at him, thought about something to say, and then thought better of talking, because he was having a lot of fun being irrational and dumb, so I didn't want to burst his bubble. I, instead, just ignored him and read for a few hours, until a vaguely impatient sort of knock filled the room with noise. I glanced at the clock and realized that either Marcone was a half an hour early, or it was someone else. I grabbed my blasting rod out of my duster sleeve, and leaned my staff towards my hand before I opened the door, as carefully as I could. It was just Marcone being stupidly early. I felt a tension I hadn't noticed flood out of me and leave me somewhat deflated as I shifted my blasting rod to my other hand and stretched over to place it on my mantle.

"Marcone? Aren't you a little early?" He shifted his shoulders smoothly, looking every bit as polished in jeans and a polo as he did in his multi-billion dollar suits. Life really is unfair. I felt suddenly inadequate standing beside him, but then decided that if I absolutely had to feel inadequate every time I was beside someone better looking than me, I'd pretty much never stop feeling inadequate, so I may as well not bother in the first place.

"Perhaps a bit, but I was in the neighborhood already and assumed you wouldn't mind. If you'd prefer that I come back later, I have no problem in doing so." His voice was perfectly casual, on the surface, but I could feel a sort of dejectedness lurking underneath, like if I told him to get out and come back when it was three o'clock his heart would simply shatter into a million little teensy weensy bits. Which, in the Dialect of Marcone, means he would frown a little harder than he usually would, and possibly shoot things.

"No, it's alright. Just let me grab by duster, and we can go." Mouse suddenly nosed hard at my hip, and sent me sprawling forwards into Marcone. He caught me with almost embarrassing ease, his arms wrapping around my chest, fingers overlapping obviously over the upper part of my spine. A growl that was more vibration than actual sound came from Thomas' direction, as Marcone seemed somewhat unwilling to let me go. Mouse panted happily behind me, for no particular reason other than maybe Marcone was here, and the dumb dog really did like the man for some reason.

"You don't need your duster, Harry. You have my promise of your safety," he said, mostly into the hollow of my throat. I laughed.

"Yeah, from you. Your promise doesn't mean anything to any supernatural whatevers that might want me to not do that silly breathing thing anymore. I'd feel better if I had it, so let me go." He actually gave an annoyed snort that blended rather well with Mouse's whine and Thomas' proud grunt. Maybe they should start a band together. Asshole Squared Plus Mutt. I, of course, would write all of their songs. Marcone finally loosened his grasp and allowed me to throw my duster on and slip my blasting rod back into the sleeve, before he grabbed my hand and dragged me out. Mouse suddenly decided he wanted to sit on Thomas, which seemed to upset Thomas himself, because he was trying to shove the dog off and stand. Marcone walked a little faster than usual to get us to his car, but whatever. I guessed he was just excited for the movie or something.

* * *

Marcone's POV

I'd truly have to buy Harry's dog a box of treats, soon. I'd never imagined it'd be so helpful, really, but it was far smarter than the average dog, especially in that it seemed to favor me over the damnable vampire who, apparently, couldn't go twenty minutes without appearing in Harry's house. I tugged Harry along quickly to my car, because while the dog was strong, I was under no illusion that it could hold an angry member of the White Court for any significant length of time. Besides, I enjoyed the feel of my ring on his finger, and holding his hand allowed me to savor that feeling.

Once I got Harry into the car with me, the man I'd had drive me there grew blessedly silent, despite having been taunting me about my 'crush' most of the way to the wizard's apartment. It allowed me to speak quietly with the taller man, without fear of his Blessed Protector jumping down my throat.

"Have you had a pleasant morning?" He snorted.

"Sure, sure. No zombies in my sock drawer or anything. I didn't even find a single ghost in my cereal bowl! It was pretty amazing. Stars, Marcone, since when have you been into small talk?" As I'm sure anyone who has ever met or heard about Harry Dresden knows, he's rather… difficult to deal with. Any social interaction with him is very similar to pulling teeth, and not nearly as productive. Getting a straight answer out of him is like teaching a penguin to fly. I sighed.

"Generally people find that to be a relatively successful conversation starter. Should I allow you to ask me something instead?" He grinned crookedly, with all his teeth.

"Why are you doing all this?" I should have expected as much. That's been nearly all he's asked over the past few days, as if no one could possibly merely enjoy his company and wish to have more of it. I will admit, he's something of an acquired taste, yet now that I've gotten that taste, I'd scarcely be able to go a week without having some interaction with him.

"I've explained all this already, you know. Is it truly so difficult to believe that I enjoy having you around and am attracted to you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were fishing for compliments." He snorted rather unflatteringly.

"As if, Marcone. I promise I get plenty of compliments. Still, yeah, it's kind of hard to believe that you suddenly have a crush on me after all the years we've spent antagonizing one another." I leaned a bit closer to him and smiled, settling a hand onto his thigh as I had once before. He didn't move it back to my own lap this time, so I counted it as a victory and allowed my smile to become a bit more real. He seemed shocked, for a second, but he covered it quickly. He's a far better liar than people seem to think, or at the very least has an ability to repress things that is so deeply ingrained he can't think to do anything else.

"Yes, and I'm sure you find those compliments almost as genuine as you find mine. Also, you've not ever truly antagonized me. If you had, you wouldn't be breathing right now. You're frustrating, yes, and one of the biggest pains in my ass I've ever dealt with, but you're not an enemy to me. In fact, I rather enjoy our little back and forths." He rolled his eyes, and some tension I hadn't quite registered flooded out of him, allowed him to recline into the seat. Tight muscle loosened beneath my hand, slowly, and my thumb began moving in slow, questing circles. I wanted to kiss him again, but held myself back, as I am most certainly not a hormonal teenage boy with his first girlfriend. I will not be reduced to playing grab ass in the backseat of my own damned car, no matter how nice Harry would look, sprawled out on leather, limbs flung about everywhere. I shook my head a bit and relaxed as well.

"Hey, John, I wanted to ask your opinion on something, actually," he said suddenly, glancing over at me with those dark eyes of his, more open than I'd seen him since the Soul Gaze we'd shared. I had a sudden trouble concentrating, and perhaps I was more of a hormonal teenage boy than I'd thought. I'd been hoping to no longer have to deal with silliness like this after puberty.

"What is it?" I kept my voice perfectly level and composed thanks to years of practice I'll be forever grateful for. I felt the inseam of his jeans brushing the edge of my thumb. He shifted a little.

"There's something I've been working on, for a while now, ever since that case I had a while back where all those women were disappearing. It's called the Paranet. It'd hook together all the low-level practitioners, the ones the Council can't ever seem to bother with. I'm no business man, though, so I've got almost literally no idea about how to go about setting it up, beyond linking Chicago and San Francisco up, and I wouldn't have been able to do that much without Elaine, Carlos, and the Ordo." Business, then. I could do business, especially business like this, things that were easy to deal with.

"You are a Regional Commander, are you not? Meaning you have contacts throughout the east coast?" He shrugged.

"I've got a few. The Wardens stationed in this area of the U.S., but I think Carlos has more than me."

"It's simple, then. Have them inform the low level practitioners in their respective areas with those you've already connected in ever-expanding bubbles, until the country is covered. Beyond that, I'd suggest having a few people in the larger cities across the country with the capability to inform you, or anyone you trust to deal with such problems, whenever something truly does happen. It is a good idea, however. I admire the sentiment." He snickered.

"Thanks. I've always had a soft spot for the lightweights out there, since I came across them so often back in the day. A lot of them are sort of scared of me now, though." How odd. Why in the world would people he seemed so hell bent on protecting be frightened of him? He wasn't truly an intimidating man, before one saw what he could actually do, and those granted his protection generally accepted it wholeheartedly even then. His smile was somewhat bitter.

"The Wardens are a whole new kind of boogeyman to those people. There are horror stories all over the place about Wardens breaking into low level practitioners' houses and stealing things, threatening them, destroying shrines, all that kind of bullshit. Add in the fact that I'm the entire reason why they have to worry about Reds whenever they step outside their front door, and the fact that for a while some people suspected me of being the one kidnapping the women, well, I'm not exactly the pinnacle of wizard-kind right now. Elaine and Carlos have been the ones doing most of the coordinating, because of that," he told me, and actually sounded as if he felt he deserved such a fate, the stupid man. I hummed.

"Who is Carlos, Harry?"

"A friend of mine, the other Regional Commander. He's pretty young, though, only about twenty five, I think. He does damn good work, though. I've never met someone who uses magic quite like him. I might be tempted to copy him, if I wasn't already so set in my ways. Of course, I could always stand to learn something new, and he favors water magic, which I'm absolutely terrible at, for reasons you can probably guess. He'd probably pull some stupid shit about me being an old dog, though." I smirked, and patted his thigh. I could, in fact, perhaps manage to figure out why Harry wouldn't be particularly skilled at things involving water. He'd already proven himself nearly incapable of swimming on numerous occasions. I wondered if all of his allies got to pull him out of rivers, or if I was just special that way.

"Ah. Well, you're not very old, are you? Thirty, perhaps?" He laughed raucously, warmly, like I hardly ever got to hear.

"Are you trying to flatter me or something, Marcone? I'm thirty five. The magic thing just makes me look a little younger, I guess. I'm sure I'll appreciate it more when I hit the hundreds." Oh, yes. I often forgot, sometimes, just how long he was capable of living. It was as impressive as it was depressing, truly. I wondered how he'd even be able to go on, without those friends of his, the ones he'd grown so irrevocably attached to. A traitorous part of my brain reminded me that Thomas would live just as long as Harry, if not longer. I cursed it, and put it away for later. Gard had long been working on something to keep me from death's door. Perhaps not for the same length of time as a wizard, but longer than the average mortal. She'd said my barony would help as well, though, would likely give me at least another thirty years. That was if, of course, I was able to keep it under my command and not allow it to be taken away from me. The car turned sharply into the theatre parking lot and forced Harry's body warmly into my side. All the air left his lungs in a sharp gasp, and his hands wrapped instinctively around my upper arm, whilst my hand shot around his waist with lightning speed. He was annoyingly quick to scramble away, though, clearing his throat the entire time.

It was an odd quirk of his that I'd noticed long ago. He enjoyed physical affection, if it was on his terms. He did not touch nor allow himself to be touched unless he wished to be, which was a large part of the reason why I'd been so worried over the physical affection he allowed the vampire. I could still only give him a smile now, though, as he shot out of the car and towards the theatre door. The driver huffed.

"Good luck with that, Boss." I smiled kindly.

"I'm certain it'll be far more difficult than it seems. It's against that man's religion to be anything but difficult." I followed Harry into the theatre to the sound of my employee laughing.

* * *

Harry's POV

Okay. Alright. So, Marcone was being nice to me. Again. Like he had been last night. Yeah. He'd given me advice on the Paranet, he was taking me to a movie, and he apparently enjoyed listening to me being painfully snarky. He had an actual, for real crush on me, for all intents and purposes. Uh huh. I was pretty sure I'd owe Thomas an apology for being right this entire time about there not being some other motive behind all this. Or I was just missing something obvious, which was always a possibility, but I, for some reason, couldn't quite bring myself to believe that in this situation, even if I didn't really know why. Marcone took my hand again, and bought popcorn for me from the one employee he had working, even though I made the machine start being really uncooperative. He even got me a candy bar, and suffered through the five minutes of indecision I had, even as the employee started looking vaguely annoyed with me.

I'd never had anyone who acted so much like an actual couple with me, even my girlfriends. It was weirdly normal. So normal, in fact, that I was almost positive a large hole would rip in the air and some kind of hell beast would fly out from the Nevernever to attack me, because I just don't do normal. Nothing happened, though. Marcone salted the popcorn while I grabbed our drinks, and then led me into theatre number three. The intro to the first Lord of the Rings movie started once we got settled into our seat. I'll admit to giggling this one time.

"Aw, thanks Johnny. How did you know I liked this movie anyway?" He gave a half-smile that could actually be called sweet, if a tiger could smile sweetly.

"You found it 'creepy' not long ago." I smirked.

"That was before I found out Lord of the Rings was at stake."

"Well, I suppose it was something of an inference. I've seen the book in your car before." I snorted, and turned my attention to the movie after I grabbed a large handful of popcorn and shoved it in my mouth. I wondered how I would've reacted six years ago, if I'd been told that I'd eventually be catching a movie with John Marcone.

* * *

We were about a fourth of the way through the film when I noticed that oh, hey, there was an arm around me that had been slowly pulling me into Marcone's side. I hadn't realized, obviously. Now, please know that in normal circumstances, I'd have done something about this, but the theatre was a little chilly, and Marcone was, apparently, secretly a furnace. Also, he was comfy, and I was still sleepy. I promise that that's why my head ended up on his shoulder. Any other time, he'd have been blasted clear to California. Yeah. Shut up. Ahem.

He shivered a little as I shifted, my hair brushing against his neck and jaw, his hand rubbing solid circles into my shoulder. The movie, even though it was nearing one of my favorite parts, felt suddenly distant and muzzy. Without thinking, I twisted and kissed his throat, over his pulse. His hand tensed, and something like a hiss slid from his lips. It was only later that I realized he'd said my name. I grunted, and nuzzled where my lips had been. I felt his pulse rocket up, flutter wildly, although from his face, his breathing, you'd never be able to tell. I laughed and went back to the movie. Gradually, his hand loosened, and as there was a lull in the action, I felt his other hand grab at my chin and raise my head. His green eyes were like a jungle in the dim light, flashing and twisting with different shades of green. He leaned forward and kissed me, first softly, then more, and I didn't stop him.

I guess that was the surprising part. I allowed John Marcone to put his lips on mine, and didn't stop it. I, in fact, had instigated it a while earlier with that neck thing. I pressed forward against his mouth, felt him lick at the seam of my lips. I decided to be a dick about it and kept my mouth closed. He growled, and I felt it rumble in his chest more than heard it. I shivered, and realized something suddenly: he'd timed this to match with the kiss between Aragorn and Arwen. I snickered against his lips when I realized it, and he took the opportunity to sneak his tongue into my mouth. I whined, and he seemed to swallow the sound, to drink up any others that may have slipped out. As embarrassing and terrible and shameful as it is, I sort of got lost in the sensation, and hardly noticed when the door opened and light flowed in. Marcone, or John, I guess, since I was suddenly discovering that maybe his unrequited feelings weren't so unrequited (and stones, but Thomas would never let me hear the end of this), slid away and got me back into my seat just in time to have a flashlight shone into my eyes. When they finally adjusted, I saw a head of pixie blonde hair and a set of blue eyes behind the blazing light. Murphy. Huh. I wondered why she was here. If Marcone was using this as a cover to do something illegal, I'd kill him.

"Murphy?" I asked quietly. She gave me a private sort of smile, the one she hardly ever used when we were in public.

"Dresden," she said, nodding once, and then turned the flashlight to John's face. He didn't even flinch. I guess he's had a lot of flashlights shined at him over the years. Or maybe he just has better eyes than me. I do spend a lot of my time in a dank, dark subbasement attempting to read handwritten potion books, and wizards are almost as notorious for their bad handwriting as doctors. "Marcone." John nodded politely.

"Sergeant Murphy. May I ask why you're here? You're interrupting the movie." I could see in her face that she wanted to say something, and she did. She just leaned so close to John to say it that I couldn't hear her. There was something oddly vindictive in her face as she said it, though, while John's eyes went all glittery. I just ignored it.

"We got one of your guys down at the precinct. He's been asking for you." Marcone smiled politely, and I figured this had all of nothing to do with me, so I went back to the movie. I really wanted a dwarven ax. I think I could be a pretty awesome wizard if I had an ax to use. Or maybe Gandalf's staff. It looked pretty cool. I'd probably be accosted as a really good cosplayer even more than I already am, though.

"I applaud you for your creativity, of course, but I'm afraid all of my men know very well to call one of my lawyers should anything untoward happen to them. Now, I must ask that you leave, as I've had this theatre reserved for the day." Murphy smiled with all her teeth and got to look unfairly threatening for someone so small.

"You know, a badge like this one," she said, displaying her shield, "Is actually pretty amazing for getting into places that have been reserved. Much as you hate it, this thing still beats your cash. Now, I think I'm going to stay for the rest of this movie. I like Lord of the Rings." Now that was a bold-faced lie if I ever heard one. Murphy told me all the time what a nerd I was for liking it, and always rolled her eyes whenever I mentioned it, or Star Wars, or Dungeons and Dragons. I figured she was just suspicious of John for some reason or another, although I hadn't heard of anything big going on recently. She plopped down beside John and flicked her flashlight back off. I decided not to bother wondering about it, because it was coming up to another one of my favorite parts.

* * *

Only about ten minutes passed before John got a hand back on me, sliding it slowly, carefully, sneakily up my arm, as though we were a teenaged couple whose parents were in the room. It settled delicately on my shoulder, and his deft fingers grabbed a piece of my hair and started fiddling around with it, twining and curling it all around, and tickling my nose. I sneezed. I saw Murphy's blonde head whip around, and heard the sharp sound of skin striking skin. John dropped my hair, a heavy snarl starting to grow from the bottom of his throat, but he cut it off prematurely and just settled his hand on my knee, where he drummed his fingers somewhat impatiently throughout the rest of the movie.

When the projector cut off and the lights turned back on, I saw a stark bruise blooming on his cheek. Had… had Murphy slapped him? I stifled a snort, but I'm pretty sure John knew just what I'd seen, because he glared at Murphy more harshly than I'd ever seen him glare, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out before she could manage to catch my other hand. I saw her begin to make a call just as we got out of the theatre. I didn't say anything until we got back to his car, and in the natural light, I could see just how bad the bruise looked.

"So… any reason you pissed Murph off enough to make her hit you." He almost seemed to pout.

"I didn't do anything, Harry. I'm afraid I'm beginning to wonder if there's any possible way for us to have a pleasant outing without one of your friends interrupting us." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence, John. Besides, I had fun anyways. I guess maybe we could do it again sometime." I felt my face heat up quickly, and I knew I'd turned totally crimson in seconds. John's eyes went lidded with his lazy smile.

"Really? Perhaps the next time you'd be willing to come to my home. I'm sure we'd be far less likely to get interrupted there." I swallowed harder than I meant to as my mouth went suddenly dry. He shouldn't be allowed to use that vocal tone, okay? It'd have this effect on anybody.

"Uh." I tried, and that was what came out three more times, before words were finally back in my skillset. "Yeah. Um. Yeah. Okay. Sure. When?" He actually laughed.

"I'm afraid I'm busy the rest of this week. Wednesday, perhaps?" I nodded, maybe too quickly. Darn! I might have revealed to John that I secretly have no life when I'm not saving the world and all its inhabitants! Curses! He smirked, and stretched up to kiss my cheek. I'll admit, I blushed again. Yeah, okay, I'm perfectly fine when he's shoving his tongue down my throat, but the cheek! Oh, my maiden's heart is all a flutter! My virtue! Oh, my virtue! Whatever shall my brother think? He had his goon drive us back to my apartment, where he dropped me off. I pecked his lips once, almost too quickly for either of us to feel, and ran off. My door closed on his happy laughter.

I expected to have to deal with Thomas when I got home, but he was suspiciously absent. Mouse panted happily and wagged his tail at me. I gazed at him suspiciously.

"Did you eat my brother while I was gone, Mouse?" He made an uffing noise that was probably loud enough for Mrs. Spunklecrief and the Willoughby's to hear. I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. It's nothing but excuses with you." His tongue lolled out in a doggy grin as I filled up his punch bowl, and got a Coke for me and Mister to split.

* * *

I didn't see Thomas for a while, and I hold that as the reason why I didn't connect him to what was going on for a while, even though John kept swearing up and down he was involved somehow. It started understandably, though, and I really can't be blamed for not putting together the pieces as quickly as John did.

The date at John's was interrupted by Billy and the other Alphas, who needed me to investigate a few of their friends' apartments for ghosts while I was there, so they called me, and I, of course, left. The next time, a Council meeting came up suddenly, and Ebenezer came to ice skating rink to pick me up. After that, Justine called me to help her free some Little Folk Lara had caught again, despite the fact that I'd been having Toot warn all that he came across not to go to that property. I will admit, the ease with which I managed to get on and off the Raith property should've tipped me off, but still. The next attempt we made at a date was interrupted by Molly running into the tiny, obscure little poetry club we'd gone to, yelling something or another about my lab and an explosion. I, having learned that those two words in the same sentence, at least where Molly was involved, was really, really bad. The smug little smirk she gave John as we were running out, and the fact that when I got home my lab was suspiciously explosion free, were the first tip offs. The final one, though, the one that finally informed me that maybe something was off, was when Michael and Charity appeared at the arcade John had brought me to, one of the only ones in town filled with only classic games, like Pac-Man, which I could play for at least an hour or so at a time without breaking them. Michael and Charity despise videogames. I asked them what they were doing there as John kicked my ass at some old shooting game, which was entirely unsurprising. He'd gotten me enough tickets to buy an awesome little sparkly pen thing that wrote in glow in the dark letters, though, so I guessed I was happy.

"Seeing if this place was appropriate for Daniel," Charity said, not missing a beat. The slightly stricken look on Michael's face told me she was lying. I grinned, slightly. If ever there was a man worse at lying than me, it was Michael.

"Yeah, sure. You guys have all been following me and John around for weeks. What's going on?" I bumped John with my hip so I could get a few cheap points in. He bumped me back and got way more cheap points in, the asshole. Michael sighed, and clapped me on the shoulder, which made me miss about three shots. John laughed quietly as the big, golden WINNER banner popped up on his half of the screen.

"We're worried over you." I saw John's eyes go narrow as he carefully knocked me out of the way.

"I'd truly appreciate it if you all stopped worrying so much. I can look after him quite well." Charity knocked Michael out of the way, and she was wearing her 'mother face', god help us all.

"You are exactly the sort he doesn't need around him!" she said sharply. John barked out a laugh, and raised his chin at Charity. Oh, Hell's Bells. Whenever Charity starts being all mothering, you do not make defiant faces, or she'll start chastising. She will chastise so, so much. She never runs out of air. Ever. The almighty gave her lungs of steel just for that purpose, I'm sure of it.

"Is that so? If you haven't noticed, there have been a significantly smaller number of people attempting to shoot him in the back since I've come around. What is it that you've done, Mrs. Carpenter?" Now, there's a skill he and Charity share. Those two can use Mr. and Mrs. as the harshest insults anyone could conceivably think of. She narrowed her eyes.

"Stitched his wounds when he refused to go to a doctor, given him a bed for the evening when whatever hotel he was holed up in kicked him out, gave him work when he had none, and stopped much of the harassment he was facing upon moving to this city, much of which came from your former employer." Oh, son of a bitch. Why the hell was this coming up now? I gave Charity a look that I hoped would quiet her, but John had been set on a warpath that I knew no one would dare stop.

"Vargassi?" he growled, "Harry, what did Vargassi want with you?" I glared.

"Nothing, Marcone. Drop it. Charity's exaggerating." She turned her gaze to me.

"I most certainly am not, Harry. Apparently his former guardian owed a significant amount of money to that dreadful man, and they came after Harry to get it."

"That McCoy man?" John questioned. I glared harshly at the ground.

"No, DuMorne. He had ties to Vargassi, and got a loan from him that he never paid back. When I moved here, Vargassi remembered my name and came after me for a little while, then he stopped. It was nothing." John's eyes were worried when he next spoke, but I didn't want to deal with any of this right now, in a public place.

"Vargassi did not just stop, Harry. Never." I glared at all three of them and marched out on my own, duster billowing out behind me. I heard Michael saying something or another to Charity about saying something she shouldn't have, and heard John's footsteps behind me, but I ignored them and caught the first cab I saw. I had him drop me off at the park, so that I could walk around for a while and think about how to explain what had gone on back then, when I suddenly got clubbed over the head with what felt very similar to the butt of a pistol. Yes, I do have prior experience. It's just how my life goes. In an amazing instance of deja-vu, I woke up with my wrists and ankles tied in the back of a moving car. Of course.


	8. Chapter 8

I groaned upon waking, feeling the glorious thumping in my head that I'd grown sadly accustomed to. A voice, which was just as annoying as the severe head pain, sounded from the front of the vehicle, which I was slowly realizing was a van. By this point, I was getting rather suspicious.

"How the fuck is he waking up again? Is he like fucking superman or something? Christ." Oh, come on. Pug nose. Hell's Bells, my life sucks. I pulled the same fire trick as before and got the ropes off before I even sat up. I pushed the achy tiredness back to some distant corner of my brain, because I just wouldn't be me if I wasn't capable of being a dick to someone who kidnaps me. Fucking twice, the bastards. I toodled my fingers at the assholes again, because being annoying makes me feel better when I'm annoyed myself.

"We've simply got to stop meeting like this, guys. What is it this time? Did you find out I stole your wallet or something? Still, I'm disappointed. You didn't take my advice about the Boy Scouts." The really funny part was that pug nose actually started patting at his pockets, as if being certain his wallet was still where it was supposed to be. I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I'm kidding, dumbass. I still want to know why in the world I'm here, though." Pug nose sneered, or at least I think I did. All of his expressions are pretty much the same, to tell the truth, and none of them fix that face thing that's going on with him.

"We found out you got outta that auction we put you in before, figured we could get paid twice for a good looking thing like you." I snorted, because damn, those fuckers were lucky to get money for me the first time. It happening again was a near impossibility, especially since I wasn't all dressed up today. "I gotta wonder how you know the Gentleman, though, honey. You his or something?" I glared. I didn't belong to anyone, and I never would. Especially not someone like John.

"No. He didn't come there for me." The driver laughed lowly, the sound thrumming out threadbare from somewhere in his chest. I guessed he didn't laugh often.

"That's why he never took his eyes off you from the moment he came in, right? He might not have come for you, but that's damn well why he stayed. Maybe I'll give him a call, let him buy you. Sure as hell make it easier on him, since you apparently ain't putting out." I snarled. No one talks to me like that. I don't take shit like that, not anymore, not for years and years and years. Not since a whole different time, not since I made memories that no longer felt like mine. The magic was sparking in my hand before I could even recognize it.

"Hexus," I hissed angrily, and sent the magic willfully towards the van's dashboard. It sputtered pathetically for a few hundred feet, and then gave up and died. I kicked my way out of the back while the two men were still gasping in shock, and then I started to run. They were on me before I could even go a half mile down the road, pug nose's knees digging harshly into my back. I growled and bucked wildly, but the other guy kicked me in the temple and I went a little hazy.

"They said you could pull weird shit," pug nose said, pressing down harder, "They said so, but I didn't believe them. Thought they were just as fucking psychotic as you, but fuck, that's fucking weird, you little freak. Hey, asshole, gimme those cuffs they gave us for him." A pair of handcuffs I recognized intimately appeared on my wrists, and my thrashing came back tenfold as I attempted, instinctively, to summon my magic. Pain like nothing but fucking Thorn Manacles could replicate sparked from my wrists up my arms until I was immobilized. A soft whine fell from my lips, and pug nose laughed.

"Hell's Bells, fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," I chanted, and his knee dug in even more harshly. His breath smelled awful when he leaned down towards my face, so I spat at him. The driver kicked me again, but it didn't really bother me much. I've had a hell of a lot worse done to me by things a hell of a lot scarier than those two guys. I supposed I should be worried that they apparently had contacts that both knew what I was and had access to Thorn Manacles, but sometimes, I get tired of worrying and fearing things I don't know. Nothing and no one had been able to hold me before, at least not for long. These assholes and whatever contact they'd come across wouldn't be the exception. Pug nose sounded pissed as he wiped my spit off his face, so I smirked, satisfied, at the ground.

"Little bitch," he said, "Like you're in any fucking position to be pulling that kind of shit. Shouldn't you be begging by now?" I opened my mouth and tasted dirt, but it didn't seem all that important at the time. I started attempting to work my thumb out of its socket, but it was being stubborn and protesting about it. See, it was a lot harder to use Lash's technique of blocking pain without her being there, but I could still manage it, when I was focused. I wasn't focused right then. I squirmed harder, and felt the bones shifting and pulling, but still they stayed where they were supposed to be. It hurt like hell, but I kept at it as I spoke.

"I don't beg, bastard, especially not to pathetic dumbasses like you." He smiled, and his teeth were yellowed and crooked, a little sharper than normal but not enough to concern me about any supernatural influences. His gums were inflamed; dark with blood and swollen enough I thought they might pop.

"Everybody'll beg to somebody, honey. You had to have done it before," he snickered, his hand suddenly burrowed in my hair, grabbing hard enough to tear some out. My thumb popped free, and I carefully worked one hand free. I started working at the other.

"As if," I growled, even though that was maybe something of a lie. I'd begged before. I didn't like thinking about it, but I'd done it, once, to Lea, but I was young and stupid then, so I held that as the excuse and left it alone in that dark corner where it belonged. His hand grabbed at my chin and squeezed the hinge of my jaw.

"The Gentleman picks 'em good, don't he, Dom?" pug nose said, and there was something ugly, dangerous in his voice, something purely mortal. The Fay, they could do cruel, they were good at it, but they never did it without some perceived slight, same with most other supernatural creatures. Being cruel just because they could, that was a mortal skill.

"Yeah, yeah. You know I ain't into men. You might wanna deal with his hand though, fucker. He got one out, and he's working on the other." Stones. Pug nose sneered at me, and twisted down to look at my hand, my thumb limp and aching. He picked the limb up and dropped it on the ground beside me. The other man took that as his cue to stomp on it harshly. I didn't scream, though. I didn't want to give them the pleasure of it. Instead I just bit down onto my lip until it bled. Pug nose snorted.

"Give it up, Dom. He ain't gonna scream. Probably takes someone real special to do that. Bet Johnny's got loads of tricks to pry those pretty lips open." He slapped me lightly, enough to sting but not to hurt. "Just go grab the tape outta the back, and the cuff keys." The other guy rolled his eyes and stomped off, boots pressing heavy indents into the soft soil. Pug nose held my other hand so I couldn't work it free, and the other man was back shortly. My thumb was popped back into socket, and then put back into the cuffs. Pug nose taped my hands into fists so I couldn't get free again. I tentatively tried to gather my magic again, only to feel thorns the size of railroad spikes dig into my wrists again. Pug nose finally got off of my back and hauled me to my feet again, before he dragged me back to the van and tossed me back into the back none too gently. I felt my ribs protest vainly as they struck metal floor. I had the vague thought that maybe I should've just stayed with John as they slammed the door shut behind me. About an hour later, two other guys I recognized from somewhere I couldn't place in another van, into which I was transferred after they tied my ankles together. Pug nose sat in the back with me, poking and prodding at my body curiously, even as I snapped and growled, threatening his fingers with my teeth as though I was any threat bound in the back of a van without my magic.

"You're not going to be able to hold me," I hissed, "You're sure as hell not going to be the one to take me down." His fingers moved to grab the hinge of my jaw again, tightening until my mouth was forced open.

"I don't wanna take you down, honey. You're too fucking valuable alive. They offered us so damn much, you know that? After they heard about how we caught you the first time. You're gonna make us rich, pal. Filthy fucking rich." I thought hard about the men who'd come to get them, and realized that I did recognize them; mobsters, but not John's men, Torelli's. I'd seen them in the news, once or twice, generally after they tried to lead a coup against John and got crushed ruthlessly. The two I'd seen were Torelli's right hands. What the hell would Torelli have to do with any of this anyway? Did these two assholes work for him?

"Torelli," I said, "You guys work for him, right?" Pug nose seemed a little shocked.

"Yeah. How the fuck you know that? Johnny been talking business with you? That's a bad play. You don't talk business with the ass," he said, sounding as condescending as he possibly could.

"No. I've seen those two who came to pick you up in the papers before. You know, after John kicks their asses. I think I get it now, though; Torelli's got a human trafficking gambit going, doesn't he? You guys were scoping Zero for new people, and picked me out, for some stupid ass reason. That's why John knew about the auction, huh? I'd be surprised if Torelli could step outside without John knowing about it. That doesn't explain why you're going after me again, though. Who hired you guys to come get me? Who gave you these cuffs?" Pug nose dug his fist in under my ribs sharply, until I gagged.

"You ain't in no place to be asking questions. You're Johnny's bitch, nothing else. I ain't gotta answer nothing you're asking." I bared my teeth at him.

"I'm no one's bitch," I said, managing to raise my chin defiantly, "And I don't belong to anyone but myself. John's got no hold over me, I don't owe him anything," I said, almost more to myself than him. It was sort of an interesting revelation to me, too. I'd been legitimately enjoying his company for however long, and I'd already admitted that he wasn't an ugly man. Hell, I'd enjoyed that kiss at the theatre as much as him, and probably would've let him go further, if Murph hadn't walked in. Huh. I realized suddenly that we'd pretty much been dating since then. Whatever, I'd deal with that later, when I wasn't still sort of upset at him for prying into things I didn't want pried into. "Stars, I am not property, and I'm never going to be property, and so, go fuck yourself." I gave him a sweet smile to punctuate my words. He actually laughed.

"You got bigger balls than I figured, baby. Wanna take a break from Johnny boy and play with me?" His thumb traced my lips, and I actually managed to bite him. He slapped me again, and grabbed my ass, presumably just because he could. "I'd do a hell of a lot worse, but I might break you, and then I won't get paid."

"Tell me who you're bringing me to. I can't get away anyway, right? What's telling me who you're taking me to going to do?" He finally sighed.

"I don't know their names, honey. I just follow orders, nothing more, nothing less. I'm a fucking grunt. I just know it's some fucker in a black hood, sounds tough. Had a girl in the same kind of hood with him, once." Oh. Oh, hell. Cowl and Kumori. Oh, Stars and Hell's Bells Stones. Dangerous, not someone I was prepared to deal with right now. I think maybe pug nose saw something like fear on my face, because he laughed.

"So there is someone you're scared of. Who is he, huh?" I glared.

"No one important. Just a cockroach, you know? Dropped a car on him once, and he still didn't die. Been a pain in my ass ever since." Pug nose smirked, but didn't say anything else. In fact, he didn't say anything else until we pulled up to a warehouse and dragged me inside with the help of the other men.

"I almost wish I didn't have to do this, baby. You'd be a hell of a lot of fun, you know? But I need the cash, and Boss wants me to do this. Maybe I'll catch you later, honey." I sneered at him.

"Not if I can help it, bucko." He snorted, which had to hurt, with a nose like that, and tossed me through the warehouse door. The floor was cold and solid, and only made my uncomfortably sprawled body feel more uncomfortable. I saw the ends of a dark robe, and black booted feet step around me.

"Thank you, men. He is undamaged, I assume?" Yeah, there was Cowl's voice, unnerving as always. I flinched a little, instinctively, because generally that voice meant I was about to go through a lot of pain.

"Yeah, mostly. Had to smack him around a little to get him down, but he should be fine." I heard the shift of fabric as Cowl moved.

"Hm. Well, I suppose that's alright. He's nearly broken from the start anyway." I flinched again, this time for something entirely different, something instinctual inside me, ingrained so deep I hardly noticed it on most days. Broken. I'd been called that before. Broken, damaged, psychotic, fucked up. Bad, bad, bad, used up and nearly empty. I didn't like it. I was a little… not right, maybe, slightly used, sort of scuffed, but I wasn't broken, nowhere near. I had a lot left in me, a lot of time, a lot of will. I was as mentally healthy as could be expected. "Here, gentlemen, is your money," Cowl finished, and I heard bills rustling and feet stomping as the men left me alone with Cowl.

"Hey, old buddy. Long time no see, huh?" I started, and saw the feet come into my line of sight again as Cowl crouched down in front of me. His finger pressed against the center of my forehead, cold and bony.

"Dresden," he said, polite, "It is rather nice to see you again, after our last meeting ended on such poor circumstances. You're quite the difficult man to get a hold of, you know, at least through magical means. It was quite distasteful for me, to have to ask those pigs for help." I shrugged as best I could.

"Yeah, well, I try to make it my philosophy to be safe, but I was a little distracted, when they grabbed me in the park. I'm not paranoid all the time." Cowl laughed, the sound cracked as winter leaves.

"Perhaps you should be." I pursed my lips.

"I'm considering it now. What do you want with me, Cowl?" He cocked his head, some.

"Your service. I'm currently short an apprentice, you see, and your magic is quite similar to my own. Tainted, you understand. Dirty and stained, enough that the 'Glorious Council' will not touch it, yet not black. It is the stain one gains from killing, yet not out of malice. You've experience with that, yes?" I clenched my teeth. Of course he knew. Of course. What else was I expecting?

"Nah. I had plenty of malice, when I did DuMorne in. I assume that's what you're referring to, anyway." I was pretty sure he smiled, but it was hard to tell. I could only see the vaguest outlines of his face under the hood.

"You're lying. You loved Justin DuMorne. You thought he saved you. And yet, when he tried to hurt you, and the girl you loved, you killed him, only because you had no other choice. Yet you still loved him. Now that you have discovered the wrongness of all he did to you, that love has faded, but there is no true hate, only disgust, and dislike. Perhaps some fear, as well, though fearing those so long dead is a foolish endeavor. I have killed in such a way as well, you see. You and I are one in the same. Not evil, but disowned by all those that claim to be good. Fighting for that which we feel is right from the shadows, from the moral gray. I'd like to have you as my apprentice." I've said before that Cowl's sanity is the most dangerous thing about him, and I hold to that. He's not crazy, so he makes good points. He's convincing. He paints a beautiful picture, of me and of himself, creates a pretty picture to cover the real evil of the dark side he so wants me to become a part of. I looked away from him.

"We're nothing alike. I'm not going to be your apprentice; I'm a big boy now." He seemed to smile again.

"I'll give you time, of course, time to think, to consider. Please, do consider it." Two of his fingers pressed underneath my chin to make me look at him. I saw the light of his eyes, but couldn't even tell so much as their color. He'd become proficient at using the shadows, obviously, at becoming a part of them. "Yes, as much time as you need. I'll return in the morning with food, Harry. Perhaps you'll be a bit more pliant by then." And then he left. I heard the click of a padlock shortly after he closed the warehouse door. The darkness covered me, and I couldn't help but feel that there was something else there, something evil and dark and dangerously unknown, but the room remained empty but for me. My reptile brain can be a big pain, sometimes, when he's trying to instigate a fight or flight response for me. I'm bad at those, you see, because I always just end up picking 'fight' out of pure contrariness. I stared into the darkness until I was finally forced into sleep by exhaustion.

* * *

Mortimer's POV

When I saw those men come up behind Dresden, I didn't think much of it, until I saw he didn't notice them, until I saw the gun slam down on his skull, until I saw him collapse like a bag of potatoes. I hadn't thought anyone could do that to him, honestly. Dresden has always been larger than life and dangerous as hell. I thought so even when we were friends, way back when, when he was hardly over eighteen and desperate to do something good for the world that had dealt him a shitty hand. I'd been a contact, for him, had a few ghosts go out and grab some basic information for him when he needed it, and he'd given me wards and companionship in exchange.

It didn't go to shit until a few years later, when I nearly got killed and dropped out of the business. He'd found out about how much of a coward I was, and been upset, tried to get me back in. I'd refused, and we'd drifted apart. I'd always kept up with what he was doing, though, who he was pissing off, what he was getting into. He scared me a little, now. It scared me to be around him, because I knew being around him was dangerous. Those monsters targeted his friends all the time, and I really am a coward. I know that. I lost a great friend because I was a coward. I'd never get that friend back because I was a coward, because I'd spent years taking advantage of people even though I could've just as easily helped them. Magic was dangerous, though. The Wardens were dangerous, and some of them pretty strictly believed that ectomancy was too close to necromancy for comfort, and watched me like a hawk. I didn't want them on my ass. I was a coward.

I was too much of a coward to run after the men when they carried him off. I was almost too much of a coward to go to someone I knew could help, but I do have something of a conscience, and Dresden's not a bad guy. He's a really good guy, actually. He makes bad choices sometimes, yeah, he messes up, but he's human. Being a wizard doesn't change that. I didn't want him to get hurt because I was too scared to talk, so I went to Marcone. Yeah, I know, that's kind of stupid, but I'd heard about how they'd been spending a lot of time together lately, and he could help, I knew he could, if I gave him a description of the two guys who'd taken Harry. So I decided to go to his office and talk to him, wary of him though I was.

* * *

Marcone's POV

Finding the cab Harry had escaped in was simple, but finding Harry himself was not. The park where the cabbie had said Harry had been dropped off lacked any trace of him, and his apartment was empty. I also couldn't find him at any of my residences. I finally broke down and called his companions, only to discover he wasn't with them either, and have Raith tell me he was coming over with his dog to help find him. Much as I hated the man, I'd be grateful for any help, because something had to have happened. He wouldn't do this, disappear without telling a soul. It wasn't in his nature. My heart pounded worriedly, and my head pulsed in time with it. My eyes were growing blurry. Hendricks kept attempting to get me to calm down. I was having none of it.

"Hendricks, I want you to find out where Tony and Marco fled, now. Get them here no matter what, even if they're incarcerated. I don't give a damn. I want them here. And have Gard get together a search party and attempt some sort of tracking spell on Harry. I want him back here by tonight." Hendricks shifted, almost nervous, but nodded.

"Of course, Boss. I'll have status reports for you every hour." He hardly ever took the tone he was using now with me, the one that said he was talking to a business associate instead of an old friend. I didn't want to consider how I looked just then.

"Thank you," I said, and waved him off as I began to make phone calls to my supernatural contacts. It seemed none of them knew anything, and the status reports Hendricks sent back kept coming up nil on both fronts. The Vargassi family had dropped off the map, and every tracking spell Gard did just bounced back. She said that meant there was a good chance that he was dead. I told her to stop being foolish and keep trying. Time passed, and Thomas called again to say he'd gotten caught in traffic and would be a bit later than he wanted to be, said that I'd better do everything I could or he'd skin me. I'd assured him I was doing what I could, although I think my voice may have broken. He'd seemed shocked, and his voice had changed to something the very generous may be willing to call gentle as he bid me farewell. I was beginning to grow a bit discouraged, however, when one of my men brought a visitor into my office.

He was a short man, and stout, with a mostly bald head and decent clothing. A scar stood out prominently on his scalp. He seemed familiar, somehow, but I couldn't recall his name for the life of me.

"Hello?" I asked, a smile small and polite on my face. Politeness was always key, truly. Being polite had gotten me far. It had gotten me onto Chicago's throne. I'd use it as a tool for as long as I could, especially with men like this, men I didn't know. He shifted his weight to another foot, and stared at the ground.

"I'm Mortimer Lindquist, Mr. Marcone. I came to tell you I know what happened to Harry." He suddenly had my full attention, my gaze going solid and sharp, my polite smile turning into a tightly drawn frown. My fists clenched under the table. It this man had been involved…

"What?" I asked, before I could stop myself and formulate a better question.

"He got kidnapped out of the park by two men. I didn't recognize them, but I thought you might. One of them was pretty short, and his nose had been broken a lot, because it was crooked and pugged up. He had short blonde and blue eyes, and he was short and overweight, with bad teeth. The other guy was taller, and skinnier, but still about seven or eight inches shorter than Harry. Had longer, greasy black hair, dark eyes." My eyes narrowed at him. If he'd been that close, why hadn't he done something to prevent it? I asked him as much, and he produced a dark, bitter smile. "I'm a coward, Mr. Marcone, and I always have been." That made little sense. I was widely known as one of the most powerful people in Chicago. Those that were easily frightened simply did not come near me.

"Then why are you here?" His smile turned a bit less bitter.

"Harry and I were friends, once upon a time. I don't want him to go out like that. He's a good man." I stared, my lungs tight and uncomfortable in my chest, almost as though they didn't belong there.

"You are no longer friends?" I asked, and my voice was dry and stiff.

"No. Like I said, I'm a coward, and knowing him is dangerous. He's got good friends, now, friends that aren't afraid of the things that go bump in the night."

"Gard, come here," I called, because the man was a bit worrying. Harry wasn't the sort to abandon someone simply because they were afraid; he simply doubled his protection of them. There was something else about this man, something odd I couldn't place. Gard entered the room calmly, and Mr. Lindquist took a step away from her, something few did unless they knew what she was." Her eyes traced over him coolly.

"He is no threat, Mr. Marcone. Why have you called me? Do you not want me to continue my search for the wizard any longer?"

"Is he a practitioner?" I asked. She nodded.

"A weak one, yes, but not one that often uses his gift. You are an ectomancer, are you not?" Lindquist nodded worriedly, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I am. I used to help Dresden with cases, use the ghosts to help him get information, and sometimes help him fight, but he started digging into something bigger, and the Wardens started in after me, so I stopped using my magic to get it to go away. I started doing séances instead, for money, and Harry didn't like it. I told him to stay away from me, because he was going to get me killed, so he left. He's only come back once or twice, to try and get me to help him. I can't do much for him, okay? I'm just trying to find someone who can help him, and if you can't, I'll just go to his boyfriend." Boyfriend? What boyfriend?

"Who the hell are you talking about?" I questioned. He raised an eyebrow, looking confused, and then realization dawned.

"Oh. Oh. Shit, sorry. Uh, that vampire guy, the one who owns the salon? Harry's around him a lot, so I just assumed that… well, he is a Raith." I gave him a sharp smile.

"You assumed incorrectly. Now, I would like you to tell Ms. Gard what you told me about those two men. They sound familiar to me, but she will be more likely to know their identity for certain." He repeated what he'd said, his voice a bit shaky, and Gard nodded.

"They are two of Torelli's men, Mr. Marcone, the ones that patrol clubs. I suppose that they are the ones that took Harry the first time, and are now trying again." I shook my head.

"They couldn't have gotten another auction together this quickly." Gard nodded.

"Indeed, but do you not remember what I have been telling you? The tracking spells are not working. He is either dead, or someone has cast some sort of spell on him to prevent him from being tracked in such a way. Torelli has, perhaps, found himself a supernatural friend who'd like Harry to cease being a bother." My head pounded angrily. I'd long known that Torelli was a problem, but he'd been far from the largest issue in my life, recently. There hadn't been time to take him out of the game. I regretted that now, hated that I'd ignored someone so blatantly against me and my rule simply because I didn't think him a threat. Now, if something had happened to Harry, it'd be on my hands. I didn't know if I could handle that. My office door suddenly smashed open again, and there was Thomas, his back straight and his eyes blazing mercury-bright. He actually appeared threatening, with that sword on his hip, half hidden by a designer jacket, and the bulge of a sawed off shotgun barely visible beneath his shirt. Mouse sat beside him, the fur around his neck standing on end, his jaws open to display long, white, razor teeth.

"You ready to go?" he snarled, looking like an animal, a demon hardly able to pass for human, with the way his face twisted. Mouse bumped his legs, and he took a deep breath, heavy and slow. Some of the silver faded from his eyes, but flecks were still bright in the gray.

"I don't know where he is. The tracking spells aren't working," I said. Thomas' face drew up tightly, suddenly, and the devastation was so obvious in his face it made me have to look away. Perhaps… perhaps the man truly did love Harry as well. Perhaps he did simply want what was best for the man.

"Damn it! Damn it all, Empty Night, damn it all! Get that guy out of here, now!" He yelled, pointing a shaking hand at Lindquist, who ran out of the room.

"Gard, have someone keep him in the building. He's coming with us. Why did you want him to leave, Raith? He was attempting to give us information." Thomas dropped down limply to lean against the dog.

"So I could say this: use my blood, Marcone. I'll give you some, so you can find him. We're brothers, so it'll work." He dug his nails harshly into his arm, pressed down harshly, with no care even as I saw something inhuman behind his eyes, saw his arm strain to pull away, but it stayed, it stayed until pale pink blood flowed freely. "Hurry up," he snarled, "Hurry, damn it. It'll heal soon." Gard was quick to pull a vial from a bag she had over her shoulder, and to collect the blood from the wound.

"I will return it when I am done with it," she said. Thomas nodded and removed his nails from his arm, their ends now stained pink. The wounds knitted themselves back together neatly, but his arm remained stained. Mouse nuzzled the man's chest. Thomas laughed softly, and scrubbed at the animal's ears.

"Thanks, Mouse. You're a good dog, huh? You know he's not… you know he isn't gone yet. You'd be able to tell, right?" A tiny grumble came from the dog's chest. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling an uncomfortable amount of relief fill me up. "Yeah, I thought so," Thomas said, seeming to join in some of my relief. "Hey, Marcone?" I turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"You really were worried, weren't you? I don't like it, but you were. That wasn't fake. I know emotions, you know? Better than I want to, sometimes, but I know them. That was real grief, all the way through to your bones. You were hanging on by a thread when I came in. This doesn't mean I trust you, but… you really do love him, right? It's not just lust. There is definitely a hell of a lot of that, though. You love him. I don't like it, but you love him. I still think he needs better, though, because I bet you're really weird about love, aren't you?" I raised my brow at him. I supposed he'd noticed something similar to what I'd seen, then. I supposed we'd have to work out another arrangement, then. Perhaps I could get some type of contract written up.

"I could say the same for you." He didn't reply, so we sat in silence for a while, until Gard returned. She spoke at the look I gave her, but the news wasn't good.

"It did not work, I'm afraid. It came closer than all else I've tried, but I still do not have a fix on him. The most I have been able to find is general direction." And that, of course, is when I heard something knocking on my window. My theory is that being around Harry often enough allows his propensity for illogical luck at the most improbable times to rub off on you. Although, it could have just as easily been another threat, but Thomas seemed happy when he saw it, and even opened my window to allow it inside. Besides, I didn't think he'd yet grown to hate me enough to create a plan to kill me convoluted enough to involve one of the Little Folk.

"Hey, Toot," Thomas said, smiling kindly. The little Fay's chest puffed out, and I noticed it was wearing some sort of armor made of trash, and wore a box cutter encased in orange plastic at his hip. The letters 'pizza or death' were scrawled across the thing in black magic marker. The thing's little dragonfly wings fluttered, and his lilac hair fluttered like a dandelion from beneath the little coke-cap helmet. It was taller than most of the pixies I'd seen as well, almost a foot. It had to know Harry in some way. It was too ridiculous not to.

"That's Major General to you, Raith! I am not here to converse with you anyway. It is the 'Za Lord's Lord to whom I wish to talk." Raith blinked.

"'Za Lord's Lord?" The fairy nodded.

"Yes, Baron Marcone, my Lord's Lord." Thomas sneered.

"Why the hell are you calling him that?" The little thing shifted impatiently.

"The 'Za Lord bares the Baron's mark upon his finger, doesn't he? That's not what matters now, though, if you wish to dispute his claim, later would be better. The 'Za Lord has been taken by the Council of the Black Robes, we must go fetch him!" I stepped closer to the tiny Fay who Thomas had called Toot.

"The Council of the Black Robes?"

"He means the Black Council, Marcone. Harry's had suspicions about their existence for a while, but nothing concrete. He thinks they're the ones behind everything that's happened recently, even that werewolf thing he told me about." My eyes narrowed.

"And they've taken Harry? How do you know, Toot?" He put his hands on his hips and glared up at me.

"Because they did, Lord of my Lord. I can take you to them, and you can save him!" I sighed.

"I will not follow you if you don't know for certain where they're keeping Harry." The little thing's wings fluttered again, and I took it as a sign of it being annoyed. Its face, I noted, seemed like a shrunken version of any Fay Lord's, beautiful and fair, much like a doll's. It was now set in a tight frown.

"I swear, Baron, that the 'Za Lord now lies, bound by the Thorns, in a warehouse." Confusion battered at me. I had no idea what 'bound by the thorns' meant, nor did I know whether I could trust the little creature.

"I believe him, Marcone. Harry gets information from Toot all the time, and it's all been good before. He's the one supplying him with pizza, and even if he was willing to let the source of his pizza die, he's a Fay, so he can't lie." The logic was sound, although I had no understanding of the bit about pizza. I supposed the fairy liked that particular product. Perhaps it was where Harry's apparent title ''Za Lord' came from.

"Fine. Take us to him, then Toot." The fairy nodded, dandelion hair bouncing fluffily in the process as he jumped into the air and took flight. It seemed his tiny dragonfly wings were having a bit of trouble bearing his weight, though, so he was quick to settle onto the top of Mouse's head as we left the house. I tried to have Gard gather some sort of army, but she said not to, that anyone with the power to orchestrate the recent events would have far too much power for any of my men to have even a chance of coming out alive, and I didn't want to risk their lives. I even forced Hendricks to remain in my office, so that if I died, he'd be able to take my place. All that came were myself, Gard, Lindquist (who tried to leave many times, saying he'd be of no help and whatnot, though I forced him to remain), Thomas, Toot, and Mouse. I snorted under my breath, too quietly for my companions to hear. I felt a bit like how Harry must always feel, rushing into something with few allies and no idea what I was getting into. I couldn't figure out why he seemed to enjoy it so much.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry's POV

It was cold as hell in the warehouse, which I guessed could only be expected, what with the metal walls and the metal floors and all. The manacles pinched my wrists angrily, while the tape tugged achingly at the skin on the back of my hands and fingers. My stomach growled, and I realized it had been a while since I'd eaten. John had been planning to take me to Burger King for lunch yesterday. A day had passed, right? I was pretty sure, at least, and certain when the door opened and early light streamed inside to warm me slightly. I smelled something sweet, and heard footsteps coming up behind me. I fought not to flinch when I heard Cowl's voice.

"Good morning, Harry. I'll assume your evening was poor? I promise, should you accept my offer, I'll have a bed made up for you in my home." I growled, and glared at the ground. The door shut, and the light left abruptly. The sweet smell grew stronger as I was deprived of my sight again.

"Fuck off." Someone had to be coming to help me. John wouldn't ever let anything between us end like it had. It wasn't his way. I just had to wait, and I was good at waiting, even though it usually hurt. I could almost feel Cowl's smile.

"I'd rather not," he said, crouching down so that I could see the light of his eyes again, see the plate of honeyed bacon and pancakes he held. My stomach roared angrily, begged me to eat, but I turned my face away from it. He laughed, and the sound was bottomless, unfathomable, without a face to match to it. "Harry, I'm certain you're hungry. Please, do eat. There's nothing in it, and it will not bind you to me in any way. I swear it by my magic." The words were clear and heavy, weighted in a way that their deep, symbolic meaning could be understood by any in the room. It was a serious oath to take about a relatively unimportant issue. I couldn't help but think that he could still be lying, because he had enough power that breaking one oath wouldn't do much to him, unless something weird happened, which, admittedly, was always a possibility with magic. My stomach continued to rumble pathetically. I continued to ignore it. Cowl sighed.

"I don't trust you, asshole. Hell's Bells, after all that's happened, why would I?"

"I don't expect you to trust me, right away. I'd think you a fool if you did, and you are far from foolish, though I hate to consider that, after my original estimation of you." I had an idea of what that original estimation was; stupid, nothing more than a thug with too much power and too little brains. That was what most people thought, when they met me. John hadn't, I realized with a bright shock. John had spoken to me as if I were a real life human being with feelings and thoughts and all that other stuff from the moment we met. Sure, I had been a real life human being who he wanted to either buy or threaten out of the game, but I'd been a real life human being. I wasn't, to most people. I sure as hell wasn't to Cowl. I was a prize. I was a tool. I was a shapeless mold of raw energy that he could shape into something useful, something to help him reach his goals and then be discarded. I was under no illusions that the next time conditions were right for a Darkhallow he wouldn't just jump right back on that bandwagon. I didn't plan on being the one to help him achieve it.

"You know, funny thing, I don't really care. I don't want to work for you, or take anything you've got to offer me. In fact, and this might hurt your feelings a little, I'd rather that I never saw hide nor hair of you again, so if you wouldn't mind taking these damned manacles off of me and letting me go home, I might not kill you today." Cowl laughed again, two fingers under my chin to force me to look into the two vague glittery dots that served as his eyes. I felt the tugging of a Soul Gaze and closed my eyes, because I've seen some horrible things, like that. I didn't want to add whatever hell Cowl's soul was to the list.

"Those are rather strong words, for a man bound on a warehouse floor." I could feel his fingers fall away, only to return and grasp my hair tightly, too tightly, sharply pulling until my scalp ached. "Now, open your eyes, Harry. Look into my eyes. I want you to see how similar we truly are, how our pasts are linked. If you look into me, I am certain that your tune will change." My eyes stayed shut tightly, tightly enough that they sort of hurt, and I could feel a few tears leaking down.

"I don't think so, pal. Your soul isn't one I want to remember forever." I heard fabric shifting.

"And how is it that you know that, if you've yet to see it, Harry?"

"Because you're one of the villains, Cowl."

"Is that so? Indeed, perhaps I do things that some would see as not proper, and yet I've done it all because I felt it would make this world of ours a better place. Is that not what you do, Harry? Do you not think that the average person on the street would have no issue with you burning the Thralls of the Red Court alive? With your killing of the Renfields? You have certainly not always been in the white." I flinched a little, but it was hardly noticeable with the way my eyes were clenched shut. I still felt like he knew, somehow.

"Go away." His hand pulled once, hard, and I realized that maybe I should cut my hair pretty soon.

"No. I'm closer to the truth than you'd have me think, aren't I? Come now, won't you just cooperate for a moment? I'll ask nothing more of you than a simple moment. Is that truly so difficult for you to do?"

"Yes," I said, because I didn't feel like arguing right then. I didn't feel like doing much. I didn't… I was tired, and I was hungry, and I was cold, and my wrists hurt, and my scalp hurt, and my eyes hurt. I wanted to see John. I didn't know why, but I did. I wanted to apologize for running out on him. I wanted to hit him for making me run out on him. I wanted to see those green eyes again, flashing bright and wild with amusement. "Hell's Bells, yes. It's impossible. I'll never cooperate with someone like you." He whispered a word, harsh and husky and inhuman, and then I couldn't close my eyes anymore.

"If you will not cooperate of your own will, then I will force it," he snarled as his eyes connected with mine and I fell, deep, deep, deep into him, into a place that no one else was ever supposed to see. It was dark. Apparently his mastery of shadows extended to his insides too. I wouldn't be surprised if he bled back as well. The shadows were cut suddenly by red, and yes, it was nothing but red. Red the color of blood, red like a million fiery sunsets. It was too bright in the darkness around it, and hurt my eyes. It flowed and shifted like molasses, growing ever closer to me, until I could see scenes being played out colorfully in the folds of it. There was a boy there, with one dark eye and one blue one, each of which glittered unnervingly, and seemed mismatched with the sunny blonde hair atop his head. There was something odd about his face, some sharpness to it that wasn't natural to a boy of his age, and he couldn't have been more than ten, not really. He was too small to speak of, and I was certain I could've wrapped my fingers around his wrists three times over. There was someone else with him, a woman. The boy held out a hand, and he whispered a word, and then she was dead.

In the next scene, he was older, and his face was burned terribly, on the side with the blue eye. The waxy, damaged flesh made the bright color stand out even more next to the shadow of the other side. I felt my own hand throb in sympathy, and I felt my real body's teeth gnash together. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them cracked. The boy was standing in an alleyway, dressed in the deep brown robes of an apprentice. They were dirty, streaked in mud and blood and other city scum. A man in a gray Warden's cloak had a hand atop his head, long and pale and thin, and the boy himself pointed at something on the wall. He smiled kindly and nodded, then said something or another that sounded like rushing water. The boy grinned back, even though it had to have made the burns on his face, obviously pretty recent, ache. The scene melted, and a new one appeared.

Here, the boy was older, maybe eighteen, standing over the man's body. Tears flowed from his good eye, though his mouth was set in a hard, determined line. His cloak was gray, now, a Warden's cloak. I watched him tear it away angrily, through it onto the bloody ground beside the man's body. Other Wardens I didn't recognize were trying to talk to him, their hands held out pleadingly. He turned and ran. The scene changed.

I couldn't see the boy's face anymore, as it was covered in a black hood that coated it in shadow. He was holding a gun. There were bodies of Wardens on the ground. His breath was coming in heavy, heaving gasps. He dropped the gun and he ran, and as he ran he grew. He broadened, got a couple of inches taller, until he looked like Cowl. He ran until a thick sheath of shadows wrapped him up, cocooned him, and then he was gone. Simply vanished. When he next appeared, the shadows around him seemed sentient, demon-like, but they weren't demons, they were ambitions. Ambitions of cleansing the world of things that were bad and unjust. There was nothing else there but ambition. It had replaced the soul of the boy as the shadow replaced his skin. I fell out of his soul and back to my body, my head throbbing, my eyes pulsing with pressure. Cowl stepped away from me.

"Do you see now?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said, and I took a deep breath, to get myself back together how I was supposed to be. "You had a shitty life. The Wardens are mostly all assholes. I get it, I do, but this isn't the way to get back at them. I hate death. I hate that I have to be the one to choose whether or not someone lives or dies sometimes. I can't sleep at night, sometimes, because of what I've done. I'm dirty, I know that, but I try not to be. You're not trying anymore." I heard him laugh again.

"I never tried. She never did, so why should I? I am not perfect, and I do not want to be. I will accomplish what I want to accomplish, Harry, and I'd rather you not become a piece of collateral damage. It is the people like you that I wish to save." I smiled crookedly, tauntingly.

"I don't need saving." And then, because the Big Guy has this thing about proving me wrong, the door crashed open and my cavalry came in the form of a Valkyrie, a Vampire, a Tibetan Temple Dog, a Wyldfay, and a Mafia Don. I'd been hoping for something a little more impressive, honestly. Still, I'd take what I could get, at this point. My fucking wrists hurt. I twisted my head around awkwardly in order to smile at them, and Toot-Toot immediately came to hover around my head, a bright blue halo of light.

"'Za Lord! Are you well? Has the Black Robed One harmed you?" I laughed.

"Nah, I'm dandy, Major General Toot-Toot Minimus. I'm glad to see you, though." Cowl reached out to swat the little creature down, but it darted away laughing. I smirked. Cowl growled.

"What an unpleasant interruption," he said, straightening up to face my rescue party. I attempted to wiggle to my own feet as well, as if I could do anything, but I couldn't quite manage to even reach my knees.

"Raith, get him loose, now. Gard and I will take the bastard down," John hissed, and I yelled to call attention to myself.

"Don't be stupid, John! These are Thorn Manacles, Thomas can't get them off. All of you need to focus on Cowl. He's a bad motherfucker." In my nervousness, magic started forming in my hands. The manacles reacted immediately, spikes burrowing into the skin of my wrists. I whined loudly. Cowl tapped my side lightly with a foot.

"Do stop injuring yourself, Harry. Simply summoning more magic will not make them stop hurting. Now, if you were under my tutelage, I could tell you how to get them off." I shook my head.

"I won't work for you, not ever. I get what you're doing and why you're doing it, but I won't help you." I could almost feel him grin.

"Later, then. I do not wish to kill a man who may yet become my heir. Now, let us rid ourselves of this interruption, yes?" I could feel the magic filling up his hands, sparking in the air around him. It twitched and tingled at the outside of the cuffs, making the thorns inside stir curiously, unsure of whether to prick me or the new, intrusive magic. Gard seemed to feel it too, because she raised a tall, wide shield, into which Cowl's force spell slammed, red and blue sparks flying as the two forces met. Thomas drew his blade, his skin bright with a nearly holy glow, and Mouse bared his teeth. The blue light was dribbling from his jaws again, bright and glittery, his eyes sparking brilliantly in the dark room. Gard pressed forward harder to hold the shield, but Cowl kept firing more and more force. I kept squirming, trying to get closer so I could maybe knock him down or something, when I felt a hand on the small of my back, stilling me. To my credit, I didn't cry out, thankfully, since it was John. He'd somehow managed to creep around passed the shield without Cowl seeing, apparently.

He jerked at the tape on my hands, tearing out the tiny, pale hairs that covered them, and I winced. After that, I felt him start fiddling with the lock. The thorns, as they felt the tampering, stuck out and dug in again. I pressed my mouth into the frozen floor to hide the noise, and he husked out an apology into my ear. I shook my head.

"Stop, stop," I mumbled softly, "I can get out, now that my hands are free. Go. You guys get out; I've dealt with Cowl before." I heard him say no as he kept working at the lock. I felt myself crying as the thorns dug in even deeper, until they felt like they were pricking the bone. I felt more than heard it when Gard's shield broke, although I certainly heard Thomas scream as he rushed at Cowl. I also heard the sick thump of his body flying into the wall. "Get him out," I hissed, and started working at my thumbs. The thorns tore at my flesh as I attempted to move. He pressed down on my hands to hold them still, and finally, finally, finally, I heard a click. They fell free. I then felt fingers prodding at the holes in my wrists that'd probably be scars. I didn't let him do it for long, though, because I heard him start growling, and I was pretty sure that meant he was going to have a shit fit in a few moments.

"Harry, what the hell were those cuffs?" he asked, but I waved him off and cried out my most favoritest word. A wrist-thick jet of flame went flying from my hand at Cowl's exposed back. He dived away at the last second so only his sleeve got singed, damn him. I looked around as rapidly as I could and saw Thomas stumbling up to his feet. He flashed a grin at me when he saw me. Cowl laughed.

"My, my. Perhaps I shouldn't have involved those men, eh? As that has apparently garnered me the interest of Chicago's mighty Baron and his pet Valkyrie. I'd have come after you eventually, you know, but this is a bit earlier than I had planned. Still, perhaps now I can take out all the major players with a single strike. I wonder, Harry, if your friends fell, would you be more willing to bend to my hand?" I laughed, high and keening, my wrists streaming blood steadily, the warmth of it trickling down my fingertips to drip onto the floor. It was dangerous and it was stupid, but I didn't really care, just then. He was threatening my dog. He was threatening Toot. He was threatening my friends. He was threatening my brother. He was threatening John. He couldn't do that. No one was allowed to do that. I gave him my sweetest smile.

"No. Forzare," I snarled, and felt Soulfire pour through me. An ethereal hand appeared in the air, red dribbling from its wrist to match mine. Cowl laughed joyously and dived away.

"What a funny trick, for a man like you. Soulfire for the tainted one, so interesting," he yelled. That was when all hell broke loose, by the way. When did it not, really? Still, this was worse than usual. The room flooded with ghosts, hundreds upon hundreds of them, cramming together so closely that they almost became opaque. They all screamed, and piled on top of Cowl with sudden, voracious intensity, intensity that told me that something was giving them direction. There'd been only one man I knew of that could make ghosts follow his direction to that degree willingly, but any notion of him being involved was swept away. That particular man didn't like me much anymore, because of the danger I represented, and really, I couldn't blame him. Sometimes I wondered why none of my current friends seemed willing to follow his example.

Anyway, Cowl screamed, because that pile of ghosts allowed my Soulfire hand to grab him and squeeze, to throw him around the room without restraint. I was almost certain I had him, this time, almost certain that maybe I could finally get to the bottom of the Black Council, but I really should've known better. That would've been too easy. Cowl simply ripped open a hole to the Nevernever and fell through. The ghosts followed him. The hole sealed. I finally noticed that hey, my wrists really, really did hurt. Mortimer appeared from behind a veil so skillful I hadn't noticed it, stumbling some. I gasped a little, and he offered a wavering smile.

"Hey," he mumbled. I blinked. Gard laughed.

"He helped us find where you were, Mr. Dresden, he and your little fairy friend." Toot, who'd been determinedly chasing after Cowl with his box cutter while I flung him around the room, fluttered up and grinned proudly at me. I grinned back.

"Thank you, major general. You'll receive a commendation for this, of course." Fairy dust swirled around him as he fluttered his wings a few times happily.

"Pizza?" he asked. I nodded seriously.

"And a medal. Keep working like this, major general, and you'll be a lieutenant general in no time." Toot smiled.

"That's good, right?" I laughed.

"It's excellent. And, uh, thanks to you too, Mort. I've got to say, I wasn't really expecting you to be part of my rescue party." His smile turned a little more real, a little more like the one I used to see all the time.

"I didn't want you to go out of the game like that. The small timers around here need you around." I smiled. "Don't be expecting it all the time, though. I still don't want you around me." I could feel John glaring from behind me, and rolled my eyes as I turned around. John's eyes seemed far darker than usual, and his face was drawn tightly. He'd been worried. I instinctively put a hand on his shoulder and he pressed nearer to me, calming some.

"Let us go back to my home, Harry, and deal with your wrists. On the way, I'd like you to explain to me what those handcuffs were, and what they were doing to you. Please, Ms. Gard, pick them up." The blonde woman did so as Thomas limped over to me. Mouse nosed at my hip, and I scratched his ears for him. He licked my hand.

"Are you doing okay, Thomas?" He was panting some, his eyes flashing from silver to gray rapidly, and John was careful to keep me at least five feet away from him, even as I wiggled around to get closer to him. He was my brother; he wouldn't hurt me anyway, not for anything.

"No. The bastard broke my hip, my leg, and my arm when he threw me into the wall. It healed, but I'm really Hungry. I'm so, so Hungry, Harry, I don't know if I can control it." Hell's Bells. It wasn't often that something could damage him enough to get him this way. I broke John's hold on my arm to get closer to him, but Thomas reeled back. "Don't! Don't, Harry, please, stay over there. You don't smell as good when your scent mixes with his." John growled. Mort fled the building, Toot fluttering along behind him. Mouse stood beside Gard a few feet away, watching placidly.

"If you even so much as breathe on him, I'll kill you," John said, and the way he said it, blank, clear, told me he meant it. I was pretty sure there weren't many living men that had heard that statement from him. I tried to speak, but Thomas cut me off. I was reminded of that night, a while ago, in Mac's, except for now Thomas was pointedly not touching me.

"I hate you," Thomas hissed, but it wasn't quite his voice. His eyes were solid disks of marble, now, inhuman. He looked like Lara, perfect in every way, but unreal, a caricature of a human. I hated seeing him this way, and he himself hated being that way, but sometimes he couldn't help it. I tried to break John's hold again, but it was like an iron band around my arm. "He's my little brother, Marcone. Mine. My stupid, stupid baby brother. I don't fucking care how much you worried about him. I don't fucking care how much you love him. You're not allowed to have him, because he's not yours to have." I'd never heard him this feral before. John's eyes were solid emerald chips, frozen solid with unworldly rage.

"This has been going on for long enough, Mr. Raith. We will settle this now. As Harry's little fairy said, it is my ring on his finger." Thomas raised his chin haughtily.

"And my blood in his veins. I'm his only family, Marcone. I'm all he has left. He needs me, not you. There is nothing to settle, because you had no right to him in the first place. No one does, because everyone will just hurt him."

"You would not? If I released him, allowed him to go over to you as he so wants to, could you honestly tell me that you wouldn't eat him? I would never hurt him, Mr. Raith. I love him far too much for that. I'd kill anyone that tried it, up to and including you. I care little for matters of blood." The words being said were surreal. I was lost again. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find the words. Thomas looked shamed.

"Bastard. I can't help it. I don't want this. I've never wanted this, but I've always wanted my baby brother. I knew the second Mother had him. I looked for him since then, every minute I could. He knows… he knows I won't do anything to him." Thomas looked lost; almost as if he was afraid his words weren't the truth.

"John, just stop it, okay? I love Thomas. He's my… he's my big brother. I don't think you would've been able to get me out if he hadn't been here too. And he's telling the truth; he's the only family I've got, and I wouldn't trade him for anything. He's annoying, he always forgot to feed Mister and Mouse, he never remembered to buy groceries, he slept with women on my bed and on my couch and on my floor, and he couldn't hold down a job for shit, but I care about him, and if you don't fucking stop doing shit like this to him, I'm not going to speak with you again. I don't have many people, John, and I'm sure as hell not going to lose the ones I do have before I absolutely have to." John stared at me. Thomas, shaking some, stared at me. Gard smirked, which was pretty unnerving. Mouse seemed to be rolling his eyes at all of us, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"You… you called me big brother," Thomas finally said, grinning. "Take that, Marcone! He'd pick me over you! Ha!" I rolled my eyes at him, and John's fingers tightened around me, almost as if he was planning to pick me up and carry me off so I couldn't leave his side. When I turned to glance at him, his eyes seemed sort of wild, a small, desperate note hidden somewhere deep underneath. His face was tense and seemed almost too tight. I saw some of his age peeking out for only the second time, the first being that day in the nursing home.

"I don't want to pick between you guys, though. I care about both of you, and if I suddenly had to leave John because he did something I couldn't forgive, I can admit I'd be pretty upset for a long time. Also, for that period of time, I wouldn't be talking to you either, Thomas, because you've been provoking him this entire time. I'm just yelling at him because I think he should be mature enough to deal with it without resorting to hurting you like that and going all caveman on me. I want you to try to get along with him too, Thomas. I mean, hell, I'm not asking for you two to exchange friendship bracelets and have tea parties together. I just want some semblance of civility. You're both in my life, and I want you both to stay there, but if you keep fighting like five year olds, I don't think that's possible." They kept staring at me. John's fingers spasmed, and I felt him take a deep breath against my side.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Raith. I will attempt to be more polite to you," he finally choked out through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry too. Harry seems to like you, I guess, so I can deal with you, at least for a while, probably. Still, if you ever do anything to him, I will fucking kill you, and Harry, I will be telling you I told you so for the rest of your life, at least after I make you feel better. Now, Marcone, as a gesture of good will, I'll tell you this: don't use your garbage disposal until you get it checked out, by the way. Something might be wrong with it, maybe." Thomas' voice sounded just as choked off and unwilling as John's, especially near the actual apology. I figured they were both mentally stabbing each other. Still, they were trying, and that had to count for something, right? I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head.

"You two are bad at this, but still, I appreciate it. Come on, I don't want to wait around in here for too long. No telling where Cowl is going to come out of the Nevernever. By the way, did he have anything on me to block tracking spells?" John nodded. "I need to go somewhere where I can get that off, then. Spells that do that aren't strictly against any Laws, but the Council might make an exception for me." Thomas winced a little, and John nodded, leading me out by my arm. Gard and Mouse trotted along behind us.

* * *

When we got back to John's place, he immediately led me into some sort of living room thing and had Gard drive an incredibly unwilling Thomas to his salon, so he could eat. He had a hamburger sent in for me to eat and sat the Thorn Manacles, which he'd gotten back from Gard, on the little coffee table. I curled into the leather couch and tried to eat as he rubbed antiseptic on my wrists and bandaged them. It didn't work very well, and I ended up getting ketchup smeared all over his face, but still I was hungry, okay? Besides, I get hurt all the time, and I say food is more important than dealing with that, especially if the food is a hamburger. I noticed how John's fingertips kept lingering on the ring he'd given me. His hands were hot.

"Will you tell me what those things are, Harry?" John having been almost unnervingly silent since he had my food brought up here, finally spoke again.

"Thorn Manacles," I mumbled through a full mouth, "Real nasty construct, no one knows where they actually came from, all that stuff. For a vanilla mortal, they'd serve as normal handcuffs, unless someone tampered with them to try and take them off. They're magic sensitive, though, so if a practitioner like me is wearing them, and tries to summon magic, then they're triggered to cause enough pain that the practitioner's concentration is broken, and they can't hold the magic long enough to use it." He nodded.

"And these have been used on you before today?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Pretty much every practitioner out there who's pissed off the kind of people I have has had them on at some point. They're a top way to get a wizard out of the way, if you can get a hold of them. I can get out of them though, usually, if I dislocate my thumbs." John nodded.

"That being the reason why your hands were taped up." I nodded.

"Yeah. I did it when Torelli's guys got me, so they taped me up. If I'd known they were taking me to Cowl, I might've managed to get enough fire together to burn through it, so I could get loose, but hey, nothing to do for it now. You and the others got me out, and somehow even managed to get Mort to come along." John patted my wrist and wiped his face clean with a white handkerchief. It was sort of unfair, that he got to look so cool and fancy all the time. If I carried used a handkerchief people would think I was stupid. I do carry one or seven or ten with me, though. You never know when one might come in handy. He nodded.

"Yes, well. I should hope you won't do anything so foolish as to run off by yourself like that again. The world is quite dangerous for you, as I'm sure you know." I snickered.

"Don't try to pull that business man shit with me, Johnny. You were worried! Johnny Marcone was worried about me! Oh, whatever shall the world do, now that its most prominent hardass has a crush on the pretty much suicidal wizard?" He narrowed his eyes playfully and shifted around so he was in front of me, his hand spanning my chest (which was also really unfair, by the way), and his knees around mine.

"Yes, I was worried. Very, very worried. Excessively so. Worried enough I felt ill. You stupid, stupid man," he mumbled, going from playful to serious far too quickly for anyone normal, the weirdo. His lips were pulled up into a sharp smile. I felt my breathing come too quickly, my chest heaving up against his hand. His eyes were still narrowed, but it was in a different way, now. His voice had taken on that should-be-illegal husk again. I smiled waveringly. He pressed forward and kissed me again, harshly. I pressed back, felt his teeth tugging at sharply at my lip, needle sharp. I shivered, and slowly felt my arms moving to wrap around him, pull him nearer. He refused to move, and instead simply shifted his knee to press it into my crotch gently. I grunted against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth and play with mine. His knee shifted, and I pressed up into it to get a little friction. He suddenly moved it away, and laughed at whatever pathetic noise I may or may not have produced.

It'd been a long time since I'd gotten this keyed up this fast. I wasn't used to it. I felt a little lightheaded, but don't tell John that. His ego is city-sized as it is, he doesn't need to know that he can reduce me to breathlessness with a kiss. It felt like he was trying to print his name across every part of my mouth, as if to make it so I could never forget what this felt like again. He pulled away with one last lick to my lips. I made some sort of noise that I was pretty sure was supposed to be some type of word, or maybe even a phrase. It sounded more like a vaguely annoyed grumble, though, like the kind of sound that I'd make when I was half asleep and closer to dead than I generally preferred to be. My face felt hot, and my magic was getting that lazy quality that meant I was actually feeling good. John shivered above me.

"Are you casting a spell?" he whispered? Now, I could've made a joke about bad pick-up lines right then, but I'm classier than that.

"Yeah, I'm a Black Magic Woman, John. You should know that much, by now." See? That joke was a lot classier than one about pick-up lines. I make bad jokes when I'm nervous, okay? And I was definitely nervous, just then. It felt a little like my first time again, fumbling around and trying to figure out the wonder of tab A into slot B with little to no previous knowledge. John chuckled, moving to mouth at my throat. The vibration of his voice felt strange there when he spoke again.

"I'm being serious, Harry. I feel it, the magic. What are you doing?" I let out a deep breath, and with it came another wave of the lazy, soft magic. It felt almost cloud-like, to me, thickening in the air until it was almost a solid mass in and of itself.

"I'm not doing anything. It just does that sometimes, okay? I can't help it. It's just like the techno-bane." I felt his short hair tickle my jaw softly as he began to lick at the skin of my neck, almost cat-like, before he nipped the place. I hissed, and my head tilted back. The magic swirled, a little, not angrily, but teasingly. It seemed to be attracted to John, determined to brush against him softly. He snarled.

"Harry," he groaned, "I cannot do this if you insist upon doing that." Well. My magic was a pervert. Who knew?

"I just said I can't help it," I managed to get out as he bit down into my neck harder. His thumbs brushed my nipples through my shirt. I whined, having had no idea that that would actually feel that good. "It does that when I feel good. It doesn't happen very often. I can… I can try to control it, I guess, but I've never done it before. Susan always… Susan always liked it," I said, actually managing to get that whole big statement out with an impressive level of coherence. The bite grew rough and deep, almost deep enough that I worried he'd gone Red Court when I wasn't looking, but then he pulled away, which is something a member of the Red Court would never do. The aphrodisiac saliva would be a nice, clean explanation for why that felt that nice, though, or at least nicer and cleaner than 'I was just a lot kinkier than I thought I was'.

"Don't mention her name when I've got you like this. I don't want to think about anyone else ever seeing you this way, sweetheart," he rumbled, sucking softly on the bite in apology.

"Sorry," I gasped, and the magic surged up again, floating around the room wispily. I was pretty sure I heard something that sounded like an electronic device frying, which I probably should've been more concerned about than I was. John's back arched into it, and suddenly he was tearing at my duster, ripping it from my shoulders and tossing it somewhere across the room. My shirt, which the bastard actually tore a little before he managed to get it over my head, went there next. His blunted nails raked down my chest, and I shifted to press into the feeling.

"It feels good, Harry, your magic. I've never been with anyone that felt like this, so intense, so dangerous. And you're letting me. I suppose that's the most surprising part of all this, that you'd allow me this, and I know you're allowing it. There's no way in the world I could manage this if you didn't let me. You're letting me bite and scratch and talk and touch, Harry. You're letting me," he repeated, a seemingly endless litany as he slid worshipfully down my body, his tongue making hot-then-cold trails across my chest and stomach and it was nice, amazing, wonderful, different. My cock twitched in my pants, and his palm settled, too large, on top of it. I jerked up into it, and he laughed, his face a little flushed, his eyes vibrant, bright green.

"John, come on, we're… we're on a couch, stop it," I coughed out. He laughed.

"It's my couch, Harry, and the door is locked. It's fine." That was when the door opened, and a red haired mountain entered with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

"What the hell, Boss?" Hendricks finally said, after complete silence reigned for a few moments.

"Has anyone ever told you what a liar you are, John?" I asked, kicking him lightly in the chest. He stumbled up and straightened his suit, as if that would hide his hard on. I felt my face flame brightly red. John coughed, and positioned himself mostly in front of me, as if Hendricks would be particularly interested in the lanky wizard when he had a Valkyrie to stare at. He cleared his throat.

"Mr. Hendricks, I apologize. I had thought I'd locked the door behind us. I'll endeavor to have it not happen again. Now, what is it?" Hendricks appeared to be valiantly holding in chuckles. I wasn't nearly so nice about it. John sounded absolutely pissed, and it was rather apparently had problems when someone interrupted his 'personal time' on a not at all private couch in a not at all private room with a certainly not at all private wizard. It was funny because it was unexpected, really. I wondered why he hadn't reacted this badly when I'd accidentally walked in on him and Helen in his office. I'd honestly sort of figured he was something of an exhibitionist, after that, because it's kind of irrational to sleep with a woman in your office and not expect someone to walk in on it. Maybe it had something to do with the magic I was putting off. I ignored the fact that Helen, being a practitioner, would do the exact same thing when she was like I was now. It could've been the fact that it was Hendricks too, I guessed. Hell's Bells, John probably felt like how I would if Murphy walked in on me. Still, I noticed that his erection hadn't exactly gone down during any of this, and the dark, heavy glance he shot at me told me that if whatever Hendricks had to say wasn't of life or death importance, the enforcer might wake up the next morning lacking something quite important to him. Hendricks seemed to realize that too, from the way he shifted. I'd never thought I'd see the big man look nervous.

"I found that thing you were looking for, before you left earlier." John's eyes went bright with something that was most certainly not lust, but instead something far less kind. It turned him into the Gentleman with a mission instead of just plain old John, John who I cared about and wanted to spend time with and was about to sleep with. I didn't really like it, because it made it not really him anymore.

"Really now? How quickly can you get it to me?" Hendricks' face went serious.

"I got it in your room waiting for you, Boss. Didn't take long to find it." John nodded, and stepped closer to Hendricks.

"Thank you, Mr. Hendricks. Harry, please remain here. I'll be back within two or three hours." I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms.

"What 'item' could there possibly be that would take you three hours to look at?" He smirked at me.

"Are you truly that impatient to continue? I assure you I'd not mind were you to go on by yourself in my absence. I will have to shower first, you understand, before I can suffer any mention of that item I must deal with, which may take rather a long time," he said, gesturing to his hips and crotch vaguely, for emphasis. Hendricks rolled his eyes. I blushed again and stared down at my own lap, partly because of his movement and partially because he'd just given me permission to masturbate in this room while he was working, and gave said permission in front of Hendricks. I was, to be quite honest, mortified.

"I don't do that," I mumbled, "I don't like it." John hissed lowly, his eyes flashing narrow again.

"I'll of course work to correct that," he managed, "Later. Now, however, I'd prefer you not mention such things, as I'll never be able to concentrate on what I must do if you keep speaking." He swept out of the room with Hendricks before I could even think to reply. Asshole. I stood up uncomfortably and grabbed the most boring looking book I could find on one of the shelves, some kind of economics whatever, and settled down to read it as I waited for John to come back.


	10. Chapter 10

Marcone's POV

My body ached miserably, every hormone I had yelling at me that I was being rather stupid and that maybe I should go back and enjoy the perfectly ready and willing wizard sitting on my couch, just in case he changed his mind later on, but ignored all of it. Vargassi had done something to Harry, and that something was a loose end. I needed to find out what had happened, deal with it, and then finally allow myself pleasure. I wasn't going to let Harry get hurt again simply because I didn't have the time to clean up a mess, like what had just happened with Torelli and his guys and that damnable Black Council I'd heard nothing about before this day. Perhaps I should also look into getting Harry's previous case files, so nothing like this could happen without my knowing again. Hendricks dropped me off at my room so that I could take a quick, frigid shower before he led me down to the basement and to a thick, locked door.

"Which one is back here?"

"Marco. So far as I can tell, Tony died about a year ago." I nodded.

"It should be fine. Tony wouldn't have remembered anyway, by now, but Marco's enough of a sadistic prick, he'll know if whatever happened was anything I should know about." I rolled up my shirtsleeves some, and spared Hendricks a nod as I settled by hand on the doorknob. "Please, go keep Harry company and make sure he won't come looking for me. I'd rather he not find out about this, as I'm quite sure it'd upset him." Hendricks smirked at me, shoulders loose, obviously attempting to convey an aura of relaxation, likely to calm me down.

"You want me to have sex with your wizard?" I laughed.

"Mr. Hendricks, I believe you know exactly what I meant when I said to keep him company, and were you to attempt the other definition of that term, I believe you also know full well what will happen to you." He snorted.

"Funny thing is, I don't know whether to be more scared of you or him." He wandered off slowly, and I made certain not to open the door until his footsteps had faded. It slipped open easily on perfectly silent hinges, the room dark and almost dismal. Marco sat at a metal table, his arms and legs bound stiffly to his chair.

He was thinner than I remembered, his face pulled tight and lean and hungry. His hair was cut short and buzzed close to his skull, and he still had a scar on his forehead from a nasty strike I myself had dealt him many years before. He sneered at me when I walked in.

"Heya, Mel. Oh, no sorry. You're Johnny now, right? Gentleman John, cleaning up Chicago. Saint John, putting the organized back into crime." He laughed bitterly. "Why the hell you got me back here anyway? I hadn't stepped foot in this city ever since you kicked me out, asshole. I ain't got nothing to do with this no more. I been living clean." I snorted. The day Marco Vargassi lived on the straight and narrow was the day I'd retire. Marco rolled his eyes. "Clean as I can, anyway. It ain't like you can just step out of the business totally. I do some petty shit, but nothing big, nothing you should be concerned about. I even got a job now, since Pop kicked it." I took a seat in front of him lazily.

"Is that so? How wonderful for you. I, however, have not had you brought here because of anything you've done recently." Marco sneered at me.

"Is this about that kid again? The one in the hospital? Christ, you took my family down for that. What the hell else do you want, dickhead?" I smiled politely, my hands clasped in front of me on the cool metal desk.

"No, Mr. Vargassi. I am not so petty that I would bring up such a thing right now. You are, of course, perfectly safe unless anything happens to her, in which case you may be assured that you'll face a few rather troubling encounters with the good people of the police force. I've called you here for something else; do you recall a man by the name of Harry Dresden?" Marco never had learned to control his face, it seemed, as it flashed with recognition at the name, along with a fair bit of confusion.

"Met him once or twice. What about him?" I kept up the polite smile.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Tell me, Mr. Vargassi, what is it that he did to gain the ire of yourself and your father?" Marco raised his eyebrows, and I'm certain he'd have crossed his arms if he could've.

"Why do you give a damn? Trying to see if he's fucking one of your operations up?" I shook my head.

"No. He and I often find ourselves on the same side, actually. He's one of mine." For the first time, Marco seemed a bit frightened. He'd seen many times what I did to those who harmed someone I called my own. I enjoyed seeing the fear blossom across his features. He deserved it.

"He ain't worth it, Johnny, I promise. The guy's a scrawny freak, he can't do shit for you. Kick him to the side, knock him off or something." My teeth gnashed together harshly as I glared at the man. He was calling Harry, my darling, my only, a freak, saying he was not worth what I had to offer, even though it was I who was unworthy of what he could give me. If he thought any of this would help him get out of this unscathed, he was quite wrong.

"He is worth whatever I may give him, Mr. Vargassi, and I'd appreciate it if you did not say otherwise. Mr. Dresden is very important to me. Now, tell me what you did to him." Marco snickered.

"Always knew you were a little off, Johnny, but I didn't think you'd be into guys, especially not skinny fucks like that. Look, man, I didn't do shit to him. It was Pop he pissed off, so Pop was the one who dealt with him. His foster father owed us some cash, and then died. Little Dresden didn't want to pay. Pop didn't like it, so Pop went after him. We hounded him for a while, then we stopped, because you were just starting up your little coup, and we didn't have the resources to devote to a small fish like him anymore. Still, what's a good Catholic like you doing screwing around with a guy like him anyway? He wore that symbol thing, the Satan one, whenever I saw him. Never took the thing off." I sneered.

"It is a pentacle, Mr. Vargassi, and is a symbol of magic, not one of demonology. You, however, have not answered my question. What did this 'hounding' entail?"

"You want a fucking comprehensive list or something? Goddamn, Johnny, we had you fucking with people before. It wasn't much, yeah? I think he might've gotten beat up a couple of times, and I know we trashed his shitty hotel room once. He was pretty agreeable after that. I got him to work at one of our bars, to start paying us back, but the little dumbass started trying to keep his tips, and I'm pretty fucking sure he was breaking the machinery. Pop actually kind of liked him, though, thought he had guts. He'd pull him aside every now and then, bring him to one of the back rooms. Can I go now, Johnny?" Agreeable? Since when was Harry ever 'agreeable' with people who tried to harm him in some way? And why in the world hadn't he gone to Ms. Murphy? I drummed my fingers against my thigh softly, perhaps worriedly. I'd never heard of Vargassi being interested in someone who he thought owed him money, before.

"Why did Harry's guardian take money from you all?" He shrugged as best he could.

"How the hell should I know? I don't fucking ask why people need cash, I just loan it out. We get our money back one way or another no matter what, so I don't really give a fuck."

"Why was Tony interested in him?" Marco rolled his eyes.

"Johnny, my dad did whatever the hell he wanted. It wasn't my fucking place to ask questions about who he was hanging with, just like he didn't ask about my shit, so long as I did what he said. I don't know shit else about little Dresden, though. Hey, is he here right now, Johnny? Think maybe you could bring him around for a visit? I sure as hell didn't like him as much as Pop did, but hey, he wouldn't be the worst guy in the world to fuck. Think maybe he wants a break from you?" I smiled politely. I then politely punched him in the nose and sent his chair tumbling backwards. He yelled in a way that made me glad the room was soundproofed. "Damn it! What the fuck kind of gentleman are you, Johnny? Jesus Christ, balls, that fucking hurts, man!" I saw blood dripping from between his fingers. Good, I'd likely broken his nose, then. Perhaps that would teach him to watch his words. I allowed a smirk to flash quickly across my face over the smile.

"I'll have Mr. Hendricks come and return you to wherever you're meant to be. I'm certain whatever town you've polluted now is missing you fiercely." He moaned pathetically. I turned on my heel and marched out of the room, Vargassi's blood shimmering wetly on my knuckles.

* * *

Harry was dozing on the couch, a book even I hadn't dared to touch for fear of falling asleep lying on his chest, opened to the third page. I chuckled softly, and wiped the blood from my hand with the handkerchief in my pocket. Hendricks sat on a large recliner, his laptop on his lap, big fingers typing away at some paper or another.

"Hey, John," he said distractedly, "I promise, he was like that when I came in here." I nodded.

"Of course, of course. Would you mind going and emptying out that room in the basement for me?" Hendricks shut the laptop with a quiet click and nodded.

"Sure thing, boss. Want I should lock the door behind me?" he questioned with a teasing smirk, obviously completely unable to ignore my little blunder from before, even though it could've very easily happened to anyone, and really, I shouldn't be blamed for my common sense falling victim to Harry when he's acting like how he was then.

"Hush, Mr. Hendricks, and yes, please do." He laughed and stomped out, closing the door behind him. I smirked when I heard the lock kick into place, and slowly stripped my button down off. I crept closer to Harry, and carefully plucked the book from his chest to sit it atop the coffee table. He stirred slightly, but then just grunted and fell back into his sleep. He hadn't put his shirt back on either, which was quite a relief. I bent down to lick his neck, long and lean and pale, clear of scars, which actually surprised me quite a lot. He grunted again, and raised a hand weakly to wave some imaginary something away.

"Go 'way, Mister. 'M tired, I'll feed ya lat'r." I couldn't help but snort. Harry makes me far too undignified for comfort. I slid up a little higher to whisper in his ear.

"I'm not your cat, Harry. It's me, John. Come on, sweetheart, wake up for me." He jolted awake suddenly, nearly sending me sailing across the room, but he relaxed quickly and gave me a wide, crooked grin as an apology.

"Dumbass, don't scare me like that." I noticed he was no longer protesting to being called 'sweetheart' which I marked as a victory on my behalf. I kissed his jaw softly as an apology, and he tilted his head to the side obligingly. Once again, I was struck by the sheer surprise that he was allowing himself to drop control in such a way. "Did you lock the door this time? I don't think my poor body can take another shock right now." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Neither you nor Hendricks will ever allow me to forget that, will you?" He snickered.

"Not on your life." I nodded.

"I suppose I'll just have to keep you quiet then, yes?" He stuck his tongue out at me, and then stretched up to kiss me, his lips annoyingly soft against mine, hardly no pressure behind them at all. I allowed my hand to slide behind his neck and hold him there, to pull him up a bit closer. He forced the kiss to remain determinedly chaste, and I sighed against his lips, because I could feel that same tingling wash of magic behind me, just starting to form that hurricane of pure sensation it had been before, and I wanted it there quickly. It seemed I'd have to loosen him up again, before it appeared. I'd noticed vaguely, before, that I could use it to decide what he enjoyed and what he didn't. It'd brush against me sweetly, when he was pleased, and harshly when he wasn't, which was truly a rather useful tool to have, in a situation like this. It'd have come in handy in many moments before, actually. I nipped his lip softly, and his mouth sighed open, his head tilting up and back for me.

His arms settled almost awkwardly on my shoulders, but then relaxed quite suddenly, and pulled me into him rather than the reverse. His dark eyes, flecked with blue, stared into mine for mere seconds, before they fluttered closed. I slipped away, and he mumbled against my lips, too close but not close enough.

"Stones, John, I don't know how you have a right to be jealous of the ones I've been with. You've obviously been with a hell of a lot more than me. You shouldn't be allowed to kiss that well. Makes me feel inadequate." I smiled against his mouth, and pressed a tiny kiss to the corner before I moved a bit farther away. I noticed that his chest was heaving a bit, his ribs starkly visible, and I truly would have to get him to eat a bit more, wouldn't I? A cherry flush rose to his cheeks as he noticed me looking.

"I assure you, you're perfectly fine. I'd not trade you for anything, Harry. Besides, darling, you're not the jealous type; I am." I paused to trail my fingers up his chest, to make the ticklish skin there twitch and shudder, before I stopped to tweak his pebbled nipples. He whined quietly, so quietly I thought it may've only been an illusion, before he jerked up into the touch once I tried to take it away. "This face you're showing now? Don't show it to anyone else. It's mine now, alright? Even if you go to another, this face is mine," I hissed softly, surprising even myself a bit. Harry rolled his eyes at me.

"I don't belong to you, John. Get that through your head." I smiled.

"No, Harry. You are mine, just as I am yours." He sighed.

"Bastard." His hands settled on my chest as I slipped my own down to his pants and undid them, smirking as he lifted his hips to help me shimmy them, and his underwear, off. His cock curved up towards his belly, and I wrapped my hand around it, twisting gently. His head fell back against the couch, and that magic raised like a wave, high and swooping over my head, before it crashed over top of me, seeming to trickle down my exposed flesh. His fingers traced nonsense patterns on my chest, a pentacle, a square, and even a heart, once. His eyes were somewhat glazed. One clumsy hand dipped down to my own slacks and started tugging at them, seeming to grow increasingly annoyed as the clothing did not disappear simply because he willed it so. Fearing a sudden introduction of fire to the proceedings, I used my free hand to swat his away and remove the things, which I threw across the room with the rest of our clothing. His eyes were fixated on the newly revealed skin, and I felt an irrational surge of pride as he licked his lips.

"Is it that nice, Harry?" He snorted.

"Nah. Just marveling at how tiny it is," he said, and the crooked grin split his lips again. It didn't have quite the same impact, when he was flushed red with glazed over dark eyes. Still, I returned the look with a sharp one of my own.

"Well, darling, if you feel that way, perhaps we could just stop, yes?" He shook his head and shrugged.

"Too far along for that now. May as well just finish this up, honestly. I don't like doing things half-assed." I twisted the hand on his dick, slid it up and down with far too little friction for it to actually do anything for him, and his hips stuttered up into me. He whined, and soft, low grown forcing its way out from between clenched teeth. I stopped and he stilled, panting, the flush spreading down his neck to add an attractive tint to the light expanse of his chest.

"Would it really kill you to admit you were attracted to me?" Another grin, this one a little hazier and with less bite behind it.

"Probably," he grunted. I sighed.

"I'll make you scream it then, sweetheart." His face screamed suddenly with expected challenge.

"As if you could." He reached out, and his fingers, long and graceful as the rest of him, wrapped around my dick. I gave as good as I got, and received a clumsy handjob and the soft weight of his pleased magic on my back as rewards. I attached my mouth to his neck and shifted us around as slowly as I could, so that he was lying on the couch beneath me, his feet hanging over the arm and my right leg hanging off the side uncomfortably. Still, I was far too distracted to be bothered by that. I sucked a mark where my mouth had settled, and his hands fell away from me, shuddering, his mouth slipping open in a whimper.

"Still so sure?" I mumbled against his skin. He didn't reply, instead pressing his hips up into mine. I snarled and shoved him back down with my own hips, pressed my weight against him to hold him still. He squirmed and struggled for a second or two, before he relented. "Floor," I finally said, after I grew bored of simply nipping and petting him. "There's not enough room here." He nodded, and I sat up. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled down to the floor, his legs sprawled out wantonly, cock hard and leaking. He saw me looking and wrapped his own hand around it, twisting and jerking, being far rougher with himself than I would've guessed he'd be. I crawled over to him and swatted his hand away. He bared his teeth and growled at me. I smiled and crouched down between his legs, running my fingers along the soft skin of his abdomen, lingering over a jagged scar that stretched vertically down it. "What's this?" I questioned, wanting to get him back talking. I liked how his voice sounded, just then, lust-drunk and dry.

"Cassius tried to kill me during the thing with the necromancers," he said. I crouched down and licked his cock as a reward, before taking it into my mouth. That ripped a scream out of him rather easily, which made me smile around him, and suck once, hard. His fingers grabbed at my hair and clutched as best he could, and his long spider's legs tensed and pulled up towards his chest whilst his magic settled over my back like the softest, warmest of blankets. I enjoyed the feeling, relished in it even, loved that for even a moment, I, and what I could do for him, were the center of his universe.

It had been a long time since I'd sucked a cock, but I supposed it was a bit like riding a bike. I could easily recall the technique most men enjoyed, and the taste was a sharp, shocking memory of days I'd thought long passed. It was a nice memory, I supposed, but the one I was making now, the stark realness of it, as well as the simple surrealism, were far more enjoyable to me. I slipped a finger down to his entrance and got it in with little resistance, although his drawn up legs fell flat beside me again. I noticed, quite suddenly, that he'd been chanting my name over and over, like an incantation, and with every utterance, the magic shroud I'd been gifted with pulsed and twitched. I licked him once, root to tip, and then let out a puff of air. He shivered and sighed.

"Beautiful," I whispered to him, "You're so fucking beautiful, and you don't even know it. Do you know how funny it is, Harry, to watch you when someone's flirting with you? It's so goddamned funny, Harry, until it isn't, and then it just pisses me off. I hate that you don't know how gorgeous you are just as much as I fucking love it, because that lack of knowledge just makes you that much more fucking lovely." I lost control of my tongue as I spoke, babbling and cursing like I never would otherwise. He seemed to enjoy it, though, or perhaps it was simply the attention. I always had thought him to be a bit starved of it.

"Sure you're not talking to yourself?" he croaked out. I put another finger inside him and stretched them wide. His legs fell loosely open and he groaned in a way that seemed trapped between pleasure and pain.

"Quite certain. You're the little doll, honey. The pretty little thing I'd keep on my shelf, if I thought there was any fucking chance you'd stay there. My pretty wizard. I hate that I have to share you with the rest of the world. I'd keep you all to myself, keep you fed and clothed and happy, and we'd save this whole motherfucking city together, Harry, one villain at a time." His hips canted back against my fingers, shifting and wiggling against me, and I went back to sucking him, to help him relax. It seemed to work, because some of the movement stopped, although he'd still twitch tiredly every now and then. I could feel it, when he was about to come, because he tightened around my fingers. I pulled my mouth off and instead wrapped my fingers around the base, stopping his orgasm in its tracks. He snarled out his frustration, slamming his fists against the floor and arching and twisting.

"What the hell, John?" he asked angrily.

"You cannot come yet." He hissed.

"Why the fuck not?" I smirked.

"Because I don't want you to." He whined out a 'stars and stones' but then seemed to have the energy drained right out of him.

"Fine, asshole. Do what you want with me." A spark of something stabbed through my heart and went straight to my cock. That wasn't something he should've said. He shouldn't have given me permission to whatever I wanted with him. I shuddered over top of him, and took a deep breath to calm myself.

"Alright, Harry. Loosen up, so I can finish stretching you." He nodded and did so, his muscles perfectly under his control. It was something of a byproduct of wizarding, I supposed. I couldn't imagine that such a skill was possible without control over one's body. I got the third finger in and stretched them, twisting inside of him and stroking wherever I could reach, seeking out his prostate. When I found it, he surged up again, trying to dislodge my hand, but I held it fast. He fell limp again as I moved my fingers away from the place, and instead avoided it steadfastly. He sighed.

"Damn it, John, I'm stretched plenty. Will you just do something already?" I shook my head.

"Say please." He shook his head.

"Fuck you. If I'd known you got off on it, I wouldn't have said it the first time over the phone." I laughed.

"I'll admit, it was a rather nice sound, you, who never asks for anything, saying please. I want to hear it again." I shifted my fingers to press into his prostate again, and this time kept them there. He scrabbled and squirmed and arched his back until it popped, both trying to get closet and to get away. I stayed where I was.

As expected, he held out for an impressively lengthy amount of time, but eventually, the sensation broke him.

"Please!" he finally yelled. I smirked.

"Please what, Harry? You really must be more specific."

"Screw you," he mumbled, "Please fuck me. Please, please, please, I want it. I want you inside me," he said, and I nodded.

"Good enough. I'll have to get you to be a bit more polite, later." I removed my fingers. "Roll over, please. It'll be a bit easier on you that way." He started to do so, and during that particular process, I stretched over to my pants to pluck the little tube of slick out. I poured it out and rubbed it over myself, the cold shocking me and making me sigh. I clicked the bottle shut and tossed it away, moved so I was behind him (and god, but I'd never imagined how nice he'd look on his hands and knees for me), then got inside of him. We moaned together, and he came suddenly, his body spasming around me as I slumped over him, having to fight not to come myself as his magic suddenly assaulted me, cutting through me, flowing around me, like a million fingers and mouths going everywhere at once. Harry seemed to fit me like a glove, like he was made for me, like I was made for him. I moved. His oversensitive body felt a little limp, his upper body collapsing onto the floor.

I held his hips with my hands, my blunted nails digging into his skin slightly as I fucked in and out, my own thighs tense and shaking. I didn't last nearly as long as I would've hoped. It was honestly a bit embarrassing, but Harry, who was hot as fire and blissed out beneath me, didn't seem to mind all that much. I felt his cock make a valiant attempt at growing hard again when I hit his prostate, and tiny, squeaking moans fell out of his mouth periodically, but beyond that, he seemed spent. He'd likely ruined my carpeting. I came hard within him, and as I did, my teeth sunk into the nape of his neck, another mark to match the two others I'd given him, and perhaps it was one he wouldn't notice, one he couldn't cover, so everyone could see that he was taken. I slid out as I softened, and fell backwards, pulling him with me to rest over my chest. He kissed it clumsily, wetly, and granted me a rare, real smile.

"Maybe not as little as I was saying earlier," he mumbled. I had to laugh again, my arms tight around his waist. I felt my come dribbling down his thighs and hitting mine. I knew it'd be far easier on us both to go clean up now, but I truly didn't feel up to it. I was tired and warm and pleased, and Harry seemed to be in a similar state, from the way he was now snoring quietly on top of me. I drifted off into a light sleep shortly after without even realizing I was doing it, Harry a warm weight on my chest, his magic hazing the air sweetly.

* * *

Harry's POV

I woke up warm and comfortable, yet also ridiculously sticky and uncomfortable. I was a little hazy on the details, but I was pretty sure that John was involved. Somehow, that asshole was always involved. I groaned. I ached in places that had never ached before, which was really saying something, in my line of work. John's chest was solid under my head, and I felt it more than heard it when he chuckled, his hands moving to settle in my hair and massage my scalp. I relaxed, some, for a few minutes, but eventually I forced myself up. My ass screamed at me in ways only my skull had been able to replicate. I glanced down at my knees and revealed that they were red and a little scraped in places, the same as my palms and my elbows. I glared at him. He just looked insufferably smug.

"John. I have rug burn. In all of my time spent having sex, which, admittedly, hasn't been all that long, neither I nor any of my partners have ended up with rug burn. Do you want to explain this?" John really looked like he was going to not laugh for all of two seconds. He gave up on the third second.

"Harry, you live in an apartment with a fireplace, and you're attempting to tell me you've never made use of it? My god, darling, I realize you've been somewhat… sheltered, in that regard, but that's just a bit silly. Not that I'd prefer you were promiscuous, as what we've just done wouldn't mean nearly as much to you if you were, but really." I shrugged.

"I'm not my brother, John. I've slept with an entire three people, and we used actual real life beds, like the barbarians we most certainly were. Also, how would you know whether or not I'm promiscuous? I could bar hop every weekend and sleep with random people." He smirked. I didn't like that look on his face. It was actually pretty worrying.

"Well, sweetheart, I know it was your first time with a man, at least with you on the bottom. Besides, you must recall that we've shared a Soul Gaze with one another upon our first official meeting. I saw your unique views on sex during that," he stated, before he paused thoughtfully and continued, "Although, I also saw just how much you wanted this," he finished, and then he reached out and grabbed my dick. The touch to the sensitive skin sent a spark of bright light flashing in front of my eyes. I hissed, and my eyes clenched shut for a second.

"Damn it, John, quit it. I really wish my soul would stop broadcasting my sex life to everyone. Now, how the hell are we going to get out of here and get cleaned up? I feel disgusting." He snorted, which sounded strange, from him. Of course, we were in a strange situation, and he also looked pretty strange himself, buck naked on the floor with mussed hair and lazy, sated, endless green eyes.

"I can have Hendricks clear the halls from here to my rooms. Give me a moment." He pulled himself up from the floor (his ass is also unfairly nice. I have no idea why he's so interested in mine if he can just look in the mirror at that), then plucked a cell phone from the inner pocket of his discarded jacket. He tried to turn it on and found it to be fried. He glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I smiled, maybe a bit spitefully. My ass hurt, okay? Like, a lot. He pursed his lips, and then came over to help me to my feet. I did at least spare him a grateful grin. "Get dressed. I'm afraid we'll have to be a bit uncomfortable." I stared at him.

"You ripped my shirt, bastard." He actually had the gall to look confused.

"Did I? My. You simply must stop me, if ever you find me getting a bit too violent. I can't help myself on occasion, I'm afraid." As if to prove his point, he absentmindedly grabbed my ass. "Just button your duster. I'm certain I have something you can put on, once you're clean." I wondered suddenly why  
I even liked this asshole. I did, though, and I'd slept with him, so I guessed I was sort of stuck with him. Thomas was going to beat me and John both up, if he saw me within the next two weeks or so. Our auras would be completely tangled, at this point. I didn't even want to consider what Bob would say. I dressed as best I could, shoving my ruined shirt into one of my duster's inner pockets, and he did the same. We walked out together. Four of John's guys whistled at us, and seven gave John a thumbs up. He looked insufferably smug again. I glared at the floor the whole way back to his room. He tried to get into the shower with me, twice. I refused, because damn it, there was no way he was screwing me again until I could sit without a cushion. I told him as much, and he laughed the entire time I was bathing. When I got out, he had an outfit that was suspiciously in my size, and even more suspiciously fashionable.

"John, why do you have so many clothes around here that would fit me? You sent that box to my house, and now you have this shirt." He smiled as he began to strip, his muscle, made for function rather than show, shifting nicely, and I needed to stop getting distracted, didn't I?

"I already told you on the phone, didn't I? I would enjoy seeing you in things I've bought for you. Seeing as how you don't have any clean clothes here, I should think you'd not be protesting." I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right, damn him. I snapped it closed and got dressed as he went into his connected bathroom and the water started to run. He actually yelped. I smirked. I'd broken the hot water heater. Ha. My new clothes were pleasantly soft, though, and I was pretty sure the shirt was actually made of cotton instead of the ground sandpaper and steel wool mixture that most of my clothes had been produced with. I relaxed in his bed, large and covered in silk sheets and thick blankets that I wouldn't mind sleeping under a few times, if such a thing wasn't totally out of the question with him. I waited patiently, meaning I fidgeted a lot, until he got out of the shower. He smiled, his hair dripping on his face and spreading water droplets all over his unbuttoned button down, and climbed onto the bed beside me. "That is my side, by the way." I grinned.

"Too bad." He laughed and kissed my cheek, after which I blushed. Because I am a shy little maiden, obviously. We cuddled for a while, which was generating enough cognitive dissonance to power Chicago for at least three months, and then he had to go and ruin it by talking.

"I spoke with Vargassi, Harry. Why did your foster father owe them money?" I jumped at the sound of his voice, and suddenly decided that touching him was something I didn't want to do anymore. He was prying. I didn't want him to pry. I'd told him more at dinner that night than most people knew. Why did he have to know more?

"None of your business."

"Marco informed me that you'd been beaten, and that your hotel room was damaged. He also stated that you worked for them in one of their establishments, and that Tony was interested in you. Tell me what happened, Harry. I'd like to know if I should be upset." I sneered.

"Johnny, I get the shit kicked out of me every other week by things a lot stronger than vanilla mobsters. I don't think you need to worry about me not being able to take a couple of ass kickings from those fucks. Look, my foster father was a wizard. You know that, right? Hell, he wasn't even really my foster father, he was my Master. He hated vanilla mortals. That's why he took me and Elaine out of the school system. It's also why he never got an actual job. Still, he spent a lot of money. Eventually, he ran out of it, so he needed a loan. We didn't live in Chicago, back then. To be perfectly honest, I don't even remember where we did live, because I got moved around so much. I just know it was far enough away from Chicago that he figured he could get a nice dirty loan from there and safely dispatch the guys he was getting it from. I killed him before it was due, though, and I never knew anything about it. If I had, I probably wouldn't have moved to Chicago to begin with. They started coming after me when I was about nineteen or so. I didn't care about the beatings, because I'd taken worse before, but I was a little upset when they trashed my hotel room and had me foot the bill, when I was dirt broke then. I worked in one of their bars to pay the debt off, and Big Vargassi would chat with me sometimes." He raised his eyebrow at me, looking caught between angry and confused.

"Only his inner circle called him Big Vargassi, Harry. You shared more than casual conversation with him. He had you hurt, Harry! Why in the world would you do that?" I could tell what he thought I did, and I snarled at him for it. Did he think me that weak? Did he think that I'd click my heels and ask how high just because someone bigger than me said jump? Fuck him. I'd show him just how weak I was. I reeled back and punched him in the jaw. He winced, and it was satisfying whether it was from shock or pain.

"I thought you knew me, John. Was I wrong? I think I might've been. People who know me wouldn't think I'd go off and be bestest pals with someone who fucked with me. I hated him, John, him and his fucking son. I talked to him when he wanted me to so he wouldn't get any more pissed off at me. Most of the time he had me back there we were arguing anyway, because I wanted to keep my tips and he wanted me to work in some of his other places. If you fucking think that I'd just give myself up like that, you have no idea about me, and I think maybe I should leave." His hand pressed into the reddening mark on his face, and he winced again. I felt pride throbbing within me.

"I'm sorry," he said, and I could feel the sincerity. I held onto the anger anyway, because he'd done the exact opposite of what I'd asked, pried into things I'd long ago forgotten. "You're right. I shouldn't have continued picking at this when you so obviously didn't want me to. I was merely worried, Harry. After what just happened to you because of Torelli… Harry, I couldn't stand it if you were hurt simply because I didn't tie up my loose ends. I didn't have Torelli taken out because I didn't see him as a threat, and he tossed you into such a man's hands. The remaining members of the Vargassi family could've done the same. I will not stand for you being harmed because of my carelessness, Harry. I love you far too much for that." That… that was really cheesy. And apparently I liked cheesy, because I also thought it was kind of sweet. Damn it.

"John, I can take care of myself, I promise. I appreciate the sentiment and all, but my messes are my own, and I'll clean them up on my own. If I want help, I'll tell you, just like I always have. Beyond that, I think you should keep me and your business separate. I don't like it. You know I don't like it. You're a good man, John, but if you involve me, I don't know if I can just look the other way." He nodded, and his smile was tight and bitter.

"I understand. However, you'll have to give me some leeway. If you involve yourself in something large, I will be involved whether you want me to be or not. I won't stand idly by if you're in danger." I had to laugh.

"Yeah? Well, you're giving me the same leeway then. I'm not going to stand around and let you get hurt either, when your vanilla enemies come around, same with your supernatural ones." He gave me a large, predator grin I hardly expected, and I allowed myself to relax against him again. His arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, and I guessed we understood one another. It was sort of nice to be on the same page with somebody. His hand pressed accidentally against the marks on my neck. I flinched a little. I'd have to attempt to get him out of the biting habit, though. I didn't think I could tolerate too awful many of those.

"Of course." He stretched up and kissed me softly, sweetly. I returned it.

"Thanks. Now, let's go get breakfast. I'm hungry." He snickered, and nodded.

"I'm forgiven, then?" I nodded.

"For now. Until you fuck up the next time. Which you will." His smile was bright, and his teeth were brilliantly white still. We stood and left the house, our hair still wet, and got more whistles on our way out, since his guys are obviously perverts. He brought me to IHOP as a peace offering, and I drowned whatever residual anger I may have had towards him in a million pounds of syrup. Thomas, being the most annoying big brother ever, marched proudly into the restaurant just then. His shriek nearly cleared the building, but he's pretty, so of course he didn't get kicked out. I say again, some guys have all the luck, and their names are never Harry Dresden.


	11. Chapter 11

Thomas' POV

John. Marcone. Fucked. My. Baby. Brother. And my baby brother liked it. My baby brother went out to eat with him afterwards. Mybaby brother. What the hell? I knew my little brother was sort of stupid, but I didn't think he was this stupid. Marcone dropped a possessive paw on my brother's bony hip, a smirk bright and wild on his face. Harry looked mortified again. Marcone just seemed smug.

"Harry. Your aura. Do you have any idea what it looks like?" He blushed. Fucking… fuck. Marcone licked his lips, and his lust hit me like a sledgehammer. Images of Harry on his hands and knees, flushed red and keening on the floor, big hands wrapped tight around his hips, assaulted my mind. I'd seen pictures like these before, around Marcone, but they'd always been hazy and pieced together, his fantasies tangling messily with the real bits and pieces he'd seen of Harry's body. These pictures had the solidity of reality that made me growl. I grabbed Harry and dragged him away from Marcone, away from his food, and out the door. Marcone chased after us, his mouth set in a hard line that I cared nothing about. I scolded Harry the entire way out even as he protested that he cared about Marcone, that he was happy and wanted to try this. I didn't care, just then. I dragged him into an alley, where I hoped Marcone wouldn't notice us, but he followed us anyway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Raith?" Marcone yelled at me, his face for once showing his anger.

"Saving my bro-my friend from the likes of you!" I screamed, dropping my hold on Harry to clench my fists in Marcone's shirt and shove him into the rough alley wall. He bared his teeth at me and shoved hard at the center of my chest, his legs kicking out and landing solid strikes to the back of my knees. Any mortal would have fallen, and even though it ached, I kept my hold solid. Harry was yelling, but I could hardly make out the words.

"There's nothing to save him from," Marcone growled, "Except, perhaps, you. He's come with me willingly, Raith, and there's not shit you can do about it." He tried to punch me, but I dodged it. Harry's hands went unnoticed on my shoulders, a steady, solid weight I couldn't have cared less about just then.

"Fuck you!"

"I've Harry for that now, although I'm afraid you've gotten it backwards," he said tauntingly. My fists tightened, and I felt it easily when his shirt tore somewhat, because my own nails began to cut into my hands. Harry was yelling louder, now at Marcone too. Good, he actually deserved it. I wasn't doing anything except defending him. I slammed him into the wall harder, and his skull cracked against the crumbling brick. He only laughed louder.

"Why the hell did you have to fucking ruin everything?" I cried, "We were happy, or as happy as we could be, and now you're going to take him! You're going to hurt him! I need to… I have to keep him safe!" The gunshot rang out suddenly at the end of my statement, and I saw the car as it drove away, I saw that they'd been aiming for Marcone, and as I dove away, I saw Harry lunge in front of Marcone, his duster billowing out wildly. The bullet bounced to the ground harmlessly. Harry was shaking. Marcone was holding him. I couldn't breathe. I was scared, because Harry almost died a lot, yeah, but I'd never seen a bullet actually hit him, enchanted duster or no. It was… it was unnerving, to recall that he was still just a human even if he was a wizard. It was scary. I was pissed at the idiot for risking his life. I suddenly heard what Marcone was saying.

"Harry, Harry, honey, you idiot, why would you do that, that was stupid, my god, that was dangerous, Mother Mary, don't ever do that again, you fucking moron, don't scare me like that." His words were genuine and soft and scared and worried and everything my voice always was where Harry was concerned. The realness of his feelings suddenly bashed me over the head. He wanted to keep Harry safe too. He loved him too. Harry just chuckled softly, his voice breathy, and I knew his rabbit heart would be pounding a mile a minute in his chest just then, at speeds quick enough to kill a vanilla mortal.

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine." The tirade I'd had set up for Marcone suddenly shifted to Harry, and I let everything out. I let out how stupid I thought he was, how dangerous his life was, how he was going to get himself killed, how he needed to ask for help, how he didn't have to be so independent all the damn time, how he didn't have to save everyone, how it would be nice if for once in his fucking life he'd be selfish, and Marcone helped me. Marcone joined in. Marcone matched me word for word. My god, but I was agreeing with a mobster. I'd never thought this day would come, but here we were, backing Harry into a wall, screaming in time with one another, both of us scared that he'd die and leave us here alone where we didn't ever want to be alone. About ten minutes of this passed before Harry suddenly broke down laughing.

"What, Harry, could possibly be so funny that you feel the need to interrupt us when we are frightened and upset to laugh?" Marcone snarled, and I nodded in agreement, of all things. Christ. This was weird. Me and Marcone agreeing just didn't happen on this place of reality, like, ever.

"You two are agreeing!" he finally managed, his voice still broken with giggles, and he laughed until a few tears were streaming down his face. "You guys have fought for almost a month, nonstop! Now you're lecturing me together! Are you going to exchange friendship bracelets next? Maybe have a tea party? Ooh, I know, you're going to buy one of those best friend necklaces they sell nowadays!" He was chortling, holding his belly he was laughing so hard. I couldn't help it. His smile was infectious, always had been, and I found myself laughing with him. Marcone joined in shortly after, as not even His Royal Badassness can stand against Harry when he's genuinely amused by something. We laughed and we laughed and we laughed there in that alleyway, and while we laughed, Marcone and I came to something of an agreement: we both loved Harry dearly, and we'd both do anything to protect him. I'd let him do that, I'd let him get close to Harry, but if ever he betrayed the trust I was putting in him, if ever he harmed my darling baby brother, I'd rip his guts out through his nose and feed them to Mouse. I'd have to get him involved in the Protect Harry Club soon, I guessed. I wondered what size coat he wore. He'd need the Official Membership Jacket pretty soon, if he wanted to come to our annual ice cream social.

* * *

*TIME SKIP* One Month Later…

Murphy's POV

I'd gotten to the Alphas' apartment early enough to snag a place on the couch, this month, which was honestly a pretty rare, enjoyable experience. The not-so-enjoyable part was Johnny motherfucking Marcone sitting right beside me, and I couldn't even have the pleasure of arresting him, since he wasn't doing anything. He was just sitting there, polite as you please, legs crossed, his hands perched easily on his knee, as if he didn't have a gun and at least five knives concealed illegally on his person. I glared at him. He smiled at me. His tacky-as-hell Protect Harry Club jacket was draped over the arm of the couch, whilst my own was hung on the coat rack with most of the others. It always surprised me that Thomas, card-carrying fashionista that he was, had designed the things, which were an eye-searing shade of pink and made of satin. They also had the club's logo, a large battlement with a cute, miniature Harry in the top room, pasted on the breast of them. It never failed to amuse me that Harry had yet to manage to catch one of us with the stupid thing. Still, I was getting off-topic, meaning Harry had rubbed off on me more than I'd thought.

Beyond our resident crook, the room was filled with the same faces as before, except in slightly differing arrangements. McCoy had spent the past twenty minutes snarling resolutely at Marcone, who had simply continued to do that smiling thing that had probably gotten him out of jail more times than I cared to think about. And Harry was dating that. Son of a bitch. I still wondered how he'd managed to come out of this fiasco with his balls intact. Maybe they really were made of steel, like Harry had always said. Come to think of it, maybe I should've suspected something before, considering how often Harry talked about the man's balls. And his eyes. I was pretty sure Harry had a green eye fetish at this point. Thomas climbed up onto his soapbox, the only one in the room who wore his shitty jacket proudly.

"I call this meeting of the Protect Harry Club to order! Today, we welcome a new member to our fold, John Marcone! If that is his real name. Which it isn't, but whatever. John Marcone has been serving as an honorary member and proving his worth at protecting Harry for the past month, and thus far he's stopped two shootings, a knife attack, five magical assassination attempt, and possibly a rape. No one's sure about that one, and for some suspicious reason that no one could possibly determine we can't find the guy." Marcone seemed really pleased with himself. Goddamn it. Marcone was as good as admitting to disappearing somebody right now, and I couldn't do anything, because I was happy about it. This was going to suck. "I vote that he's one of us now." The entirety of the room, except for Molly, who despised Marcone completely and totally both for his chosen profession and for the fact that Harry was screwing him. Even Charity reluctantly raised her hand, although I was pretty sure that was partly because Michael was sort of raising it for her. "The motion carries! John 'The Bastard' Marcone is now a member of the Protect Harry Club!"

I realized with sudden certainty that we were all totally fucking ridiculous. I found myself not caring, because Harry really was rubbing off on me. We were keeping him safe, and that was all that mattered. The rest of the meeting continued on with its usual amounts of stupidity, and a few new plans were written up and named things that were so horrible the world couldn't bear to hear them repeated.

* * *

Harry's POV

John came home at about five o'clock, that ridiculous jacket he and all my other closest people thought I could never possibly see mostly hidden under his actual coat. I mean, honestly, it was sort of idiotic that they thought they could make up such a stupid club and I'd never find out about it, but still. In some ways, it was actually sort of cute of them, so I didn't think it was a big enough deal to confront any of them for it. It was pretty nice to know so many people cared about me that much, really, after my particularly unique past. I stood up from the soft, mushy recliner John had bought for me, the one gift from him I'd actually accepted without much of a fuss, and walked over to him with a smile. He returned it, one of his hands going up to loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. It reduced his age by about ten years, at least.

I was generally the only one allowed to see him like that, open and kindly relaxed. I draped my hands over his shoulders, and he wrapped his around my waist, stretching up easily to kiss me. I bent down a little to make it simpler for him, engaging in a dance we'd done many times already. It was a comforting sort of normalcy, the kind that allowed me to relax and grin and be safe and lazy and pleased. He walked me backwards to the couch, and then twisted around to drop down onto it, me on his lap. It sort of fascinated me that he had the capability to let me, who is made entirely of gangly limbs, sit on his lap, but I kind of liked taking advantage of it, days like this. He nipped my neck out of habit, right where he always did, as I'd never been able to break him of it. I had a mark there now that was pretty much permanent, and he insisted on replacing it every time it started to fade away. Still, I fought with him relatively often, so I let him have his way on a few things. I rolled off of him to curl beside him as best I could, my legs taking up an entire half of the couch.

He snorted and allowed me to plop my head onto his chest as he twisted his arm around to settle his large hand on my thigh. We'd come to all sort of compromises, during our rather short time together, and the cuddling was one of them, but it certainly wasn't the most uncomfortable for me. I stretched over him to grab a book, and he snickered, then plucked it from my hands.

"The Hobbit again?" I huffed.

"It's a good book." He flipped it open to the beginning, carefully keeping my bookmark, another gift from him, where it was.

"May I?" I grinned.

"Only if you read it out loud." He nodded, and started to read. He had a surprisingly good voice for it, one that rose and fell with the action, and sometimes he even caught himself doing different voices for the different characters. I smirked at that, and I actually got one of his rare blushes. We sat together like that for hours, and I completely forgot that I'd been planning on spending the day playing with the bugs Murphy had sent for me earlier in the week. Bob, who I'd finally convinced John to let me keep after a thorough inspection by Gard, which Bob himself enjoyed far too much, would be pissed at me. I shrugged to myself and cuddled closer into John's side, pecking the space between his neck and shoulder gently. Like it mattered. I didn't get to be happy and cozy and comforted very often, and I was damn well going to enjoy it. Everything else could wait until I was done. John started on a new chapter, and a noisy explosion sounded from somewhere down the hallways, and Hendricks started cussing a blue streak down the hallway. He slammed the door open.

"What was it this time?" John questioned. You see, we'd been finding all the traps Thomas had lain about the house from before he and John came to their truce ever since they got on friendly terms. First was the termite infestation, then there was the hornet's nest in one of the bathroom cabinets, and then there was the rigged toaster oven that caused a pretty severe fire in the kitchen. At least he had said something about the garbage disposal, which had been set up to explode and fire garbage back at whoever attempted to use it.

"Goddamned vacuum cleaner. It blew up. Dust fucking everywhere. It's on the ceiling. I've got to clean it up. Harry, I'm going to motherfucking kill that asshole Thomas. Then Gard's gonna bring him back, and I'm gonna kill the bastard again. And again and again and again." I snorted. John sighed, his forehead creasing.

"I'll handle it. Take the rest of the day off, Mr. Hendricks." The flustered man finally relaxed and grinned, although his face was still a little red with residual anger.

"Thanks Boss." John nodded and waved him off, then immediately went back to the book once he was gone. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Didn't you say you were going to deal with that?" He smiled and made a call to that Russo kid who'd delivered the box of clothes with me, telling him in no uncertain terms to clean the mess up. He never had told me why he seemed to hate that poor kid so much. Still, I figured I could find that out later. Just then, I was cozy, and he was coming up on my favorite part, so I didn't really want him to move either. I snuggled back in and shifted my legs, dropping my head carefully atop his shoulder. He moved his hand to scratch my head gently and continued to read. I don't think I've ever felt quite as safe and happy and loved as I did right then.


End file.
